


Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend

by SideshowStarlet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Character Development, Childhood, Childhood romance between Dudley and female OC, Coming-of-age, Cousins, Family, Family Guy references, Fight Club References, Friendship, Friendship with former bully, Funny, Gay Harry, Gen, Heartwarming, Humor, INSPIRATIONAL, Makeover, MiO, Oblivious parents, Parody, Plays with canon, Pre-Hogwarts, References to "It Gets Better" videos, References to "My Immortal", References to male homosexuality, References to pornography, References to relationship between male OC's, Sausage jokes, Song parodies, Sparkly orange scarf, Tangy, Unrequited crush on OC, coming-out, musical theatre, sassy gay friend - Freeform, sexual innuendo, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 02:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideshowStarlet/pseuds/SideshowStarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Harry is flamboyantly gay and forms a connection with his cousin. The result? Dudley loses a punching bag but gains a sassy gay friend! Based on the Sassy Gay Friend videos made by Second City Network. Will have twelve chapters when finished. Sequels planned! Also posted (and highly acclaimed) on fanfiction.net under the username SideshowStarlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: AU in which Harry is more... flamboyant and did not grow up completely despised by his family. The result? Dudley loses a punching bag but gains a sassy gay friend! Based on the video series made by Second City Network (just search for Sassy Gay Friend on Youtube).

Ever since he could remember, Harry had been confined to the cupboard under the stairs rather than having a proper bedroom. Anyone who actually took a look a good look around the "room" would realize that the boy was not taking this slight as badly as his aunt and uncle would have hoped. It was rather cozy on the whole, a testament to his years of stealing his aunt's issues of "Better Homes and Gardens" and "Martha Stewart Living." The cupboard also seemed to be larger on the inside than it would appear to be from the outside. A careful observer might question why anyone would build a window, complete with mini blinds and attractive navy blue curtains, in a cupboard under the stairs. The smarter ones would ask why this window could not be seen from the outside of the house. And how on Earth, these hypothetical observers would wonder, could one fit a king-sized bed, an extensive wardrobe, a vanity table, a sewing machine, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase full of magazines, an indoor pool, a 32-inch plasma screen, and a beanbag chair in one tiny cupboard under the stairs?

Of course, the only visitor to Harry's cupboard was Harry's cousin Dudley, who was well-used to his cousin's quirks. Dudley knew his parents well enough to realize that, as much as they loved their son, they despised any mention of Harry or abnormality. Plus, he valued his cousin's friendship (and 24-hour access to the indoor pool) too much to tell his mum or dad anything about how much Harry was enjoying the room that was meant as a punishment for... being Harry.

There had been a time when Dudley behaved just like his parents, treating Harry badly and blaming him for everything that went wrong. But all that changed when they were about eight, and Dudley realized that underneath the small, skinny body and flashy clothes (hand-me-downs of Dudley that Harry had altered beyond all recognition) was one of the, oh Hell, the smartest person Dudley knew.

It had all started one chilly morning during Christmas break. Eight year-old Dudley was going about his usual routine. He had the small skinny body of Marvin Hutchinson pinned against a wall and was kicking the nerdy boy in his privates, something he had seen on one of his dad's movies. It seemed to be working, as Hutchinson was slumped over and groaning in pain. "I know you got 20 pounds birthday money," Dudley growled, sounding as menacing as a six year old boy could be expected to sound before said six year-old wet his pants. "So give it up!" Hutchinson reached a shaking hand into his pocket, about to pull out a crisp 20 pound note that he had put in there only this morning. Dudley grinned in triumph but was soon interrupted by a familiar voice.

"I think someone else needs to lose 20 pounds. What, what, WHAT are you doing?" Harry suddenly appeared behind Dudley, his hands on his hips. He was wearing an old black long-sleeved shirt of Dudley's. However, the pansy had carefully altered to make it fit his girlish frame. Now, the once extra-large shirt appeared to be too short for his cousin; the sleeves didn't quite reach Harry's wrists and the shirttail just barely reached Harry's hips. He was also wearing a pair of Dudley's faded old blue jeans that he had altered so they clung to his skinny legs and dyed so they looked new. His freaky, fruity cousin had topped off the whole ensemble with a sparkly orange scarf that rain or shine, he never left the house without. Harry technically wasn't allowed out of the house wearing that scarf, but Harry was a freak, what do you expect? Dudley made a mental note to tell his mother about Harry's freakish outfit when he got home from the shopping spree he would go on with Hutchinson's birthday money. He would enjoy snickering at Harry as his mum yelled at his moronic cousin.

"He's got money. I want it," Dudley replied slowly, as if speaking to a buffoon.

"And I want your thick golden waves on my head instead of this mess here." Harry flipped his hair, which remained untidy despite liberal application of any kind of mousse and hairspray. He knew the only way his hair would ever stay down would be to grow it out long, but every two weeks, his aunt dragged him to the barber shop to get a haircut. She would die before she lived in the same house as any long-haired male. "That doesn't mean I put my foot in your sausage factory."

Dudley's face wrinkled in confusion at the phrase "Sausage factory." What did Harry's favorite breakfast have to do with anything? (And Dudley knew it was Harry's favorite breakfast, because every time his mum cooked sausages, Harry would loudly proclaim them to be "the best thing in the history of ever" and make a big deal out of eating his. Instead of cutting it into bite-sized pieces, Harry would gently pick his up and slowly bring it to his lips and stuff as much of it into his mouth as he could. He wouldn't bite it, though. He would just suck on it before pulling it out. He would repeat this process until dad threatened to lock him in his cupboard for a month. Harry would then give mum and dad this stupid look that he clearly intended to convey innocent surprise. This would only raise dad's blood pressure further, and he would slap Harry around the head. Harry would gag on the sausage still in his mouth, rub his head where dad had hit him and mumble something random like "I like it rough." Whenever Harry opened his mouth, unless it was to stuff in a sausage, weird comments were sure to come out.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

"He's a dorky piece of piss. And a nerd!" Dudley's eight year-old mouth shot out the worst insults that he could think of. "And you are too!" He shot at Harry. Dudley was a second away from grabbing Harry and throttling him, but his selectively shrewd mind made the connection that he currently had his hands on someone who Dudley knew had money in his pocket. It was highly unlikely that his dweeby cousin had any cash on him. So, he quickly decided against letting go of the dork with money to beat up a dork without money. There would be other opportunities.

"So we beat him up and take his money? You can't just beat the shit out of everybody who annoys you! If I did that, Jersey Shore would start getting a lot more interesting."

Dudley had no idea what Harry was going on about. He desperately tried to stay afloat in the confusing argument. "Not we! Me! I'm gonna beat him up and take his money! You're gonna stay out of my way and let me go shopping!"

"Oooh! You're going shopping? Please say it's for new clothes!" Harry squealed.

"No! Now get out of my face" roared Dudley, attempting to turn his attention back to Marvin Hutchinson.

"Then what are you shopping for?" Harry asked curiously.

"I need some soda. Or maybe some juice. Or a slushie... It's none of your business! Now beat it!"

"You know, I have a beverage that you might be interested in."

Dudley raised an eyebrow curiously. "Is it that David Hasselhoff stuff that you were talking about last night?"

"Huh?"

"Last night, you said that David Hasselhoff was good to the very last drop."

"Um, no, I was talking about... something else." Maybe Harry should refrain from talking like that around Dudley. After all, the television in his cousin's room had parental controls on it. Since his aunt and uncle had no idea that Harry had somehow managed to acquire a television for his cupboard (and never seemed to hear the noise through the walls no matter how loudly he had the telly on), Harry was free to watch anything he wanted. "This beverage is, if possible, even better. Wouldn't you like a delicious water beverage made just to your personal taste?"

"Yes," Dudley admitted. That did sound good right about now, after all this work.

"Then make it MiO! All you need to do is FTS."

"FTS?" repeated Dudley, puzzled.

Harry pulled a 20 ounce bottle of water and a small, round, silver container out of nowhere. "Flip it," Harry flipped the lid off of the silver container, "Tip it," Harry tipped the silver container upside down over the bottle of water, causing a small amount of red sugar-water to come out, "Sip it," Harry sipped the from the water bottle, grinned, and offered it to Dudley, who swallowed half the drink in one gulp.

"That is good," Dudley admitted.

"Now, what do you say we forget about this mess and go get some more?"

"Sounds good to me," said Dudley. "This is getting to be too much work."

They walked off together, leaving a relieved Marvin Hutchinson to question his sanity.

The cousins hadn't gone very far before Dudley stopped in his tracks. "Harry?" he said. "We don't have any money."

Harry gasped and slapped his forehead. "I totally forgot about that! C'mon you stupid bitch," Harry said in a friendly kind of way. "That's what parents are for."

Dudley, shocked that he didn't think of this before, hurried home to ask his mum for money. Harry lagged behind, knowing that his appearance would not cause Dudley's mother to be particularly generous. He grinned fondly after his cousin, shaking his head. "He's a stupid bitch," Harry said warmly to nobody in particular.


	2. Chapter Two

Dudley's favorite thing about the cupboard under the stairs in which his cousin resided was the fact that, along with giving it a "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" (a show Harry occasionally made Dudley watch) style makeover, he also somehow managed to put in an indoor pool that was several times larger than his cupboard should be. Dudley would keep a pair of swim trunks in Harry's somehow voluminous cupboard. Then, sometime throughout the day when he was sure that his parents wouldn't be looking for him, he would slip in Harry's cupboard and swim a couple laps around the pool. If Harry was being punished and was "locked" in his cupboard for a period of time, Dudley would also bring food. For all his smarts and sense of style, Harry would forget to eat if left to his own devices. Then, far from being punished from whatever it was his aunt and uncle were angry with him about, Harry spent hours having fun with his cousin, splashing and swimming in his luxurious indoor pool. Of course, this was not always the case. There was a time when Dudley was content to plant his bottom on the sofa and veg out in front of the telly all day.

However, all that changed one fateful day over summer vacation when Dudley was nine and Harry was eight. Dudley was just settling in for an all-day Simpsons marathon on the telly in the living room, since the television in his own room had suffered a nasty foot-related incident when Dudley's favorite program had been canceled. Dudley now knew that this was a network decision and not the fault of that particular television set. It had been quite a nasty shock to realize that the program would not play again no matter which television he tried to watch it on. Worse, he had destroyed the TV in his room for nothing. But, the damage had been done, and he was stuck watching the television in the living room until his dad could buy him a new one from the electronics store. Still, no use crying over spilled milk when his parents had, metaphorically speaking, already promised him a bigger glass with chocolate milk.

Dudley had his bag of crisps, his cookies, a tasty beverage, and his feet on the coffee table in front of him. He had the remote control in his hand and his eyes on the screen, watching Homer's donut-driven antics. He was totally focused on the television screen when he heard a familiar voice shrieking into his left ear.

"As much as I consider the tangled, complicated, and totally offscreen steamy love affair going on between Smithers and Mr. Burns to be the greatest romance never told, I feel I must ask you: What, what, WHAT are you doing?"

His cousin Harry Potter stood beside the sofa, but jumped over the arm to plop down next to Dudley.

"What do you mean, 'What are you doing?'" Dudley asked languidly. "I'm watching some TV. Now either shut up or get out."

"So, you're going to sit on that couch all summer, turning yourself into stupid, fat Homer when you could make yourself into a stupid sexy Flanders?" Harry asked, his eyes wide with horror as he gazed at his cousin's ever-expanding stomach.

Dudley bristled. He was just a little plump. It was nothing to get all bent out of shape over, no pun intended. "Because it's too hot outside, and I want to relax. Exercise is what gym class is for. And who would want to be Ned Flanders? Didn't that TV Tropes site you're always on about call him a butt-monkey?"

"Well, some people like that kind of thing," said Harry with dignity.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over the past couple months or so, growing older and hanging out with his more worldly cousin more often had caused Dudley to learn a few facts of life. He suspected his cousin might be one of those people. In fact, he suspected Harry could lead a parade of those people. Harry could write, choreograph, and direct a big gay musical about those people, then throw a hissy fit of epic proportions because he couldn't call his play "The Big, Gay Musical," because the title was already taken. He would scream on and on about how that movie could NOT be as awesome as his play. He would lock HIMSELF in his cupboard as he screamed and sobbed into one of his throw pillows, something he hadn't done since "Dreamgirls" was denied an Oscar nomination for Best Picture. After a while, Dudley would cautiously knock on the door, the DVD of The Big Gay Musical in one hand, a plateful of sausages in the other. Dudley would somehow convince Harry to put the disc into his mysteriously-acquired DVD player and at least give the film a chance. It sounded like the sort of thing he'd love. At first, Harry would refuse, but Dudley would hold the plate of sausages for ransom so that Harry had no choice but to give in. And so, with a dramatic sigh, Harry would plop down next to Dudley on the luxurious king-sized bed that had been an army cot when Aunt Petunia had given it to him. He would then pout as the movie played across the TV screen. His eyes would widen. He would eat a few sausages. Pretty soon, he would be completely enthralled, singing and dancing along, while the plate of sausages that he had been forced into watching this movie for lay forgotten. And Dudley would finish off the plate before they got cold, happy that his cousin was back to normal, or as close to normal as he ever got.

Of course, this was all hypothetical. In real life, Harry had watched the Big Gay Musical approximately 525,600 times in the week since he had purchased the DVD. One may wonder how Harry had time for this when there were only so many hours in the week and the movie was about 90 minutes long. Well, Harry James Potter MADE time. Also, after he watched the movie straight through the first ten times, he started watching only the bit at the beginning, when the scantily clad angels tap dance, then rewinding to watch that part again. Harry insisted that this counted as him "watching the movie," and added a tally mark to a piece of paper every time he did this. By the end of the week, he had 525,600 tally marks, had the angels' dance routine down-pat, and could tell people (Dudley) that he had seen the Big, Gay Musical 525,600 times in one week. He and Dudley were currently at odds over the validity of this claim.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well," said Dudley, realizing he had let his mind wander into some form of the Camp Gay CloudCuckooland that his cousin seemed to inhabit, "Even gay guys don't want it ALL the time. And straight guys don't want it at all!"

"Some people like to experiment..." Harry began.

"Well, I don't! I like to watch the telly and eat my snacks in peace."

Harry pouted at the collection of junk food in front of his cousin. Then, he brightened up. "Omigod! You're drinking MiO!" he squealed.

"Yes," snapped Dudley. "And I don't need a commercial from you. The only commercials I'll be listening to will be coming from that big, black box," Dudley said, gesturing towards the TV.

"I wasn't going to do a commercial," said Harry. "I was going to show you something."

Dudley sighed deeply. He had seen this episode already, and his cousin would give him no peace until he acquiesced. So, he allowed himself to be pulled along by the arm to Harry's cupboard while Nelson Muntz "Haw-haw"-ed in the background.

 

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Harry opened his cupboard door with a flourish, revealing a new addition, a huge indoor pool that was bigger than the entire house but somehow managed to fit comfortably in Harry's tiny cupboard. Dudley stared in shock, "How the Hell did you get that thing in here?" he asked.

"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," said Harry. "A magician never reveals his secret. Now how would you like to turn into a stupid, sexy Flanders without sweating like Chief Wiggum in a heat wave?"

While Dudley's parents would simply balk at the mention of magic, Dudley frowned and said, "Is this some sort of trick to make me lose weight? Why do you care so much about how I look?"

"Aw, sweetie," said Harry. "You're my cousin, and I'll always love you no matter how you look. I've grown to tolerate your looks and fashion sense the same way you've grown to tolerate my sparkly orange scarf."

"Then why is this such a big deal to you?" Dudley asked.

"It's just, I know it can't be much fun spending the day watching TV, playing video games, and eating junk food," Harry explained. "That's the kind of thing I'd do when I was grounded. Granted, they were different types of movies... but all the same, the telly wasn't as much fun after I discovered my love for fashion and interior decorating. It was like a whole new wonderful world. I just want to give you the same opportunity to find happiness."

"So instead of a commercial, you're doing a public service announcement?" Dudley joked.

"This isn't a public service announcement," Said Harry. "I'm not a doctor, a nurse, or Jenny Craig. I'm just a boy telling his cousin and, whether you like it or not, his best friend, to get in that pool and have a blast."

"Your best friend? Really?" Dudley asked. He realized that he probably shouldn't have been surprised. While Harry would socialize with the other kids at school, mainly girls, as he had more in common with the girls in his class than the boys in his class, Dudley had never seen Harry get very close to any of them. Sure, he seemed to like most of them, and the more tolerant children in the class returned his feelings, knowing that Potter was a jolly good chap. But, he didn't share his secrets with them the way he shared them with Dudley or spend hours bickering back and forth with any of them the way he did with his cousin.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I like you best."

"That's... that's..." Dudley didn't know what to say. He was so surprised, pleased, and flattered.

"Awww... c'mere, you stupid bitch." And Harry pulled his cousin into a hug. Harry subscribed to a theory that all good hugs lasted at least seven seconds. However, this hug barely lasted two seconds before Harry, with surprising strength, pushed Dudley into the pool. Harry jumped in after his cousin and spent the rest of the afternoon having a fierce dunking match, the TV, the junk food, and even the MiO forgotten.

Any sassy gay observer would agree, watching Harry climb on top of Dudley's shoulders singing, "Five-hundred, twenty-five thousand, six-hundred minutes! Five-hundred, twenty-five thousand, six-hundred moments so dear!" as Dudley grabbed Harry by the ankles and attempted to plunge him face first in the water, that they were both stupid bitches.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Dudley has a fabulous birthday, during which Harry attempts to give him the talk commonly known as "The Talk." Dudley learns a lesson about homophobia in the most unexpected place and uses his brand-new camcorder to help his cousin see that It Gets Better. Review, you stupid bitch!

Harry and Dudley were both ten years old. However, this would not be for long. The mysteriously acquired Grandfather clock (which should be too big to fit in a space as small as one would assume a cupboard under some stairs to be) counted down the minutes to midnight, when Dudley Dursley would officially turn eleven. Only one minute to go. Harry did a weird little dance on the bed and squealed excitedly. Dudley slapped his cousin affectionately. He was excited as well, but Dudley didn't generally show his emotions as openly as his flamboyant cousin (unless, of course, he was asking his parents for something. Then, he knew how to amp up the pathos and turn on the waterworks. Even Harry, the undisputed drama queen, was impressed by Dudley's showmanship when Dudley inevitably got exactly what he wanted from his doting mother and father).

Forty-five seconds left. It was lucky that these cupboard walls seemed to be soundproofed, as Harry and Dudley were wrestling and rolling around, making enough noise to wake the dead. However, as usual, Dudley's parents remained oblivious.

Only thirty seconds to go now. "You better have gotten me a good present!" Dudley joked, holding his cousin in a headlock. Normally, Dudley won their little wrestling matches. However, Dudley had made the unlucky mistake of having his attack inadvertently mess up the sparkly orange scarf around Harry's neck. With a rage-induced burst of adrenaline, Harry elbowed Dudley in the stomach, causing the older-by-one-month boy to double over.

"You DON'T mess with Tangy!" Harry shrieked, kicking Dudley in a region Harry liked to refer to as a man's "Sausage Factory." It hurt like a bitch. While he was shoving Harry in revenge, Dudley wondered why the heck any male would call their privates a "Sausage Factory." There was, after all, only one sausage. Even if you liked, well, sausages, it's not as if you're going to be making more sausages down there. You'll only ever have the one you were born with. Thus, it was his duty to protect Baby Dudley with all the care and sense of duty that Harry put into caring for Tangy. Which is why he had to have his revenge.

An eye for an eye. Dudley aimed a kick at his cousin's "Sausage Factory," but missed. His foot made contact with Harry's stomach, and Harry doubled over in pain. But not before grabbing a hold of Dudley's hair. When Harry went down, Dudley's head was forced down with a painful yank of his thick blond locks. Normally, fights of this nature between Harry and Dudley escalate in both time and intensity to the point where it was beyond either of the cousins' mental capacity to recollect why, exactly, they had begun beating the crap out of each other in the first place. This battle would have continued in a similar fashion had Dudley not caught sight of the fabulous Grandfather Clock that took up way less space in relation to Harry's cupboard than it should have. It was now fifteen minutes after midnight.

"Hey, I'm eleven now!" Dudley shouted.

Harry squealed excitedly even as he punched his cousin in the nose. Even the birthday boy didn't get to mess with Tangy!

"So did you get me a present?" Dudley asked, resuming the thread of their earlier conversation while aiming a kick to Harry's shins.

Harry pulled away in a snit, hands on his hips, glaring at Dudley. "Why should I get you anything?" he huffed. "Isn't it enough that I give you free fashion advice that you never take, pool privileges, a lifetime supply of MiO, and your own beanbag chair all year around ENOUGH of a present?"

Dudley considered this. "No," he said simply.

"Oh, you stupid bitch," said Harry affectionately, while giving Dudley a light slap on the shoulder. "Birthdays aren't about getting presents; they're about having a FABULOUS time!"

"But how can you have a fabulous time if you don't get any presents?" Dudley asked. He was only joking, of course. He would happily go without any presents at all as long as he got to spend his birthday with his quirky cousin.

"Well, I suppose if you insist on being all shallow and materialistic rather than appreciating the value of true friendship and the power of love..." Harry trailed off as he ducked under the king-sized bed to retrieve a large festively-wrapped box. Harry had a flair for gift-wrapping; the present looked almost too pretty to open. Dudley quickly tore the paper off, anyway.

Anytime Harry gave Dudley birthday or Christmas, it was always an assortment of multiple gifts- a combination of what Dudley imagined someone's prim and proper maiden aunt (definitely not Aunt Marge) might give a boy (in this case, fancy clothing with designer labels, expensive-looking sunglasses, and some carefully selected bottles of hair product) and what a cool older brother would give his younger sibling (such as full-season DVDs of all the shows that his parents wouldn't let him watch, a B-B gun, and a few issues of distinctly adult magazines). There were also a few containers of MiO, which, in their awesomeness, defied all attempts at categorization.

Dudley gazed awkwardly at the dirty magazines that had been included with his gift. Sure, he and Harry had given each other child-inappropriate gifts before, but never anything this... raunchy. Noticing Dudley's discomfort, Harry patted his shoulder. "Relax, buddy," he said. "I know you've been getting these kinds of magazines from Piers lately. It's totally normal to be curious, and I am in no way judging you. Nor do I like you any less for it. But think about it... used porn. You know Piers gets those old magazines from his older brother. His brother's probably lent them out to his own friends, not to mention Piers letting his other friends borrow the magazines. Just think about how many pairs of soiled hands have flipped through those not-so-glossy pages. Not to mention, you're basically stuck with whatever kinks your lender has. And trust me, sometimes it's best not to know those sorts of details about your classmate's cute older brother." While Harry sighed dreamily, Dudley's face was rictus of terror. Not because Harry knew about his recent interest in adult magazines; Harry was a cool guy- look at the way he bought him obviously new, never-before-looked-at porn for his birthday. No, he was deducing why the many pairs of hands that came before him were soiled. While Dudley was far from being a germophobe, the thought of tiny, invisible particles of that sort of bodily fluid on the pages of the borrowed magazines made him feel slightly sick. The nauseous feeling in his stomach worsened when a horrible thought occurred to him.

"Harry!" he said, terrified. "Do you think I could get, you know, sick from touching old pornos?" Seeing Harry's shocked and confused look, Dudley clarified. "You know, like," His voice dropped as though afraid to talk about it, "An STD?"

In honor of the fact that Dudley was his best friend and it was Dudley's birthday, Harry refrained from laughing. Instead he said patiently "Oh, you stupid bitch. You don't need to worry about getting STD's from a dirty- ha- magazine. I was just kidding around with you. I mainly brought you the magazines because I wanted to show that you have options instead of sticking with whatever sexy pics Piers' hunky older brother is willing to part with. Trust me, you're not going to get any STD's... you might want to wash your hands afterwards, though."

This calmed Dudley down for a bit. He idly flipped through one of his birthday magazines. When he saw two girls making out, another terrifying thought struck him. "Harry! You know how there's girls who like other girls?"

Harry merely nodded, trying not to betray the fact that this was one facet of the mysteries of sex that he would rather remain ignorant of. It wasn't that he didn't like girls; they made excellent shopping buddies. He just didn't like the idea of a meatless makeout session, if you know what he means. Dudley was his friend, and he was growing up. He had to see this conversation through to the end. He couldn't leave the task of giving the talk commonly known as The Talk to Dudley's father. The man would hopelessly muddle it, Dudley would run away, join a monastery, and Harry would never see his cousin again.

"Well," Dudley continued, "Wouldn't it make sense for, you know, lesbians to want to look at pictures of pretty girls? What if a lesbian gets her hands on this magazine, then puts her hands in her you-know-what?"

"Her vagina, Dudley. It's called a vagina. Please never call it a you-know-what again. You sound like Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way." Okay, maybe Harry was being a bit snappish, but come on. He wasn't one of those guys who liked to sit around talking about vaginas. If he had to do it, he was going to get it over with quick. He wasn't going to beat around the bush about it.

"Who's Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way?" Dudley asked cluelessly.

"Dudley! You're saying her name wrong! It's Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way."

"Eb-ony Dark-ness De-men-tia Ra-ven Way," Dudley enunciated slowly.

"You're still not saying it right!" Said Harry frustrated. "Look, just call her 'Enoby.' That's what she calls herself most of the time, since she usually can't remember how to spell her own name."

"OK, so who's Enoby?" Dudley asked.

"A Goth." Harry deadpanned.

"Oh, you mean the people who combined the style of Punk rock and Victorian fashion to create a dark, morbid, and, if done right, mysterious and alluring style of dress?" Dudley asked, remembering one of his flamboyant cousin's fashion talks.

"No, Ebony and her friends are real Goths the same way Twilight Vampires are real Vampires. Except, curse you, Stephanie Meyer, I actually like Twilight Vampires." Harry paused for a second to get his thoughts in order. "Anyway, Ebony, or Enoby as she sometimes calls herself when she forgets how to spell her own name, most emphatically does NOT dress like a Goth. She dresses like a hooker with her spray-painted hair, her sandy dresses, and her hot-pink fishnets."

"Really? Girls spray-paint their hair?" Dudley had a crush on a girl named Mandy, who sat in front of him in math class. She had naturally blond hair, but had recently gotten it colored red. Her hair didn't smell like paint at all. It still had the same sweet, flowery scent to it. He remembered hearing something about a group of delinquents on the other side of town sniffing paint to get high. Could people get high from smelling colored hair? That might explain why he seemed to be so tongue-tied whenever Mandy was around.

Harry rolled his eyes heavenward, almost as if he could tell what Dudley was thinking. "Anyway, even though Enoby has sex with, like, everybody, she can't bring herself using proper terminology for her and her partner's genitals. Instead of the hot, hot sex scene one would expect from the uber-experienced town tramp, you get one-sentence, somewhat traumatizing descriptions of an act barely recognizable as sexual intercourse. For example, 'He put his thingy," Harry gestured towards his Sausage Factory, "In my you-know-what." 

Dudley guffawed loudly, but stopped when he saw the look on his cousin's face. "You're actually serious, aren't you?" Dudley said, horrified. Harry nodded solemnly.

"Yes," Harry said, his normal flamboyancy gone as he contemplated this deadly serious topic. "And I'm not even going to bring up the passive make-out sessions."

"Never again," Dudley swore. He took a deep breath and said bravely, "Boys have penises and girls have... have... vaginas."

Harry gasped and applauded. "You stupid bitch, good for you!" he cheered. Suddenly, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Umm... why did you bring up lesbians again?" Harry asked.

"Well, you know," Dudley hedged, his embarrassment returning now that they were back on topic. "If a girl touches a magazine with that kind of fluid on it, and then touches, you know, herself... all right, her vagina, could she get pregnant?"

Harry's shoulders shook with the effort of not laughing at this ridiculous question. Dudley looked genuinely worried, after all, and Dudley was his best friend in the entire world. The things one does for bromance. "No, Dudley," Harry said patiently. "There is no way that you can get a girl pregnant just by swapping pornos. Look, don't be afraid of or guilty about looking at porn. It's a safe way to experiment, to see what you like. Just make sure to take your hands out of your pants occasionally so you can actually interact with girls. They make fabulous shopping pals."

"Right," said Dudley uncertainly. He trusted Harry's advice about what can and can't get a girl pregnant. He just wasn't the sort of guy who would enjoy going shopping with a bunch of girls.

The pair fell into a peaceful silence, sitting on the bed, their arms around each other's shoulders. "Seriously, Harry, were you for real about Enoby, or did you just make her up to turn me gay?" Dudley asked, still chuckling over the memory of Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way.

"What?" Harry asked, his voice not sounding quite as cheerful as usual. Maybe he just really hated fake Goths. Dudley believed they were called "Posers." Yeah, that made sense. Harry probably despised posers with the vitriol he normally reserved for knock-off designer items.

"You know, cause we're close and I'm a pretty good-looking guy if I do say so myself," Dudley joked, nudging Harry in the ribs.

"Close? Dudley, we're cousins!"

"Yeah, but we don't even look like we're related. I meant we were close friends," Dudley explained. "I'm just saying that I could understand if you ever, you know, thought about me like that."

"Why would I ever think of you like that?" Harry asked, offended.

"Well, don't you like guys?" Dudley asked. "And I'm a guy," he added, stating the obvious. "And you like me, right?" Dudley asked with the air of one putting two and thirty-seven together to make thirty-nine.

"That's doesn't mean I have a crush on you!" Harry exclaimed angrily, taking his arm off Dudley's shoulders and standing up. "I think we should go to bed; it's getting late." He pointedly held the cupboard door open for Dudley. Dudley stepped out, puzzled. Harry generally had no problem with Dudley sleeping over in his spacious cupboard. It was like Harry was mad at him or something.

Dudley went up to his room and tossed around in his own comfortable bed for a while. He couldn't sleep. He and Harry had never fought like this. Actually, that wasn't true. Before they became friends, he and Harry fought all the time; he just hadn't cared whether or not Harry was mad at him. Then, after they became friends, they were always engaged in some petty battle or other, but the fights were never serious. Anyone could tell that they had a lot of fun together, even when they were arguing. Now, it was like Harry didn't even want to see him.

Dudley sighed, got up, and went over to his computer, intending to pass the time by looking up this "Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way" person that Harry had been talking (bitching) about. This turned out to be a mistake. It seemed a young "Goffic" girl named Tara had taken it into her head to write her memiors and publish them online where they can be read free of charge. Dudley was all for free stuff, and he was not a big believer in spending money on something like books. However, it would probably have been best if these particular memiors had never seen the light of day.

Tara Gilesbie, a girl Dudley had never heard of in his life, used a sort of author avatar, Ebony or Enoby, to recount her strange adventures. She was either making up these strange adventures or she was completely delusional. Either way, the memoir, which Tara had for reasons unknown entitled My Immortal, spread like Herpes across the internet. It was published chapter-by-chapter instead of all at once, and each chapter gained an increasing amount of fans leaning over to gawk at the trainwreck.

Though not a grammar Nazi by any stretch of the imagination, Dudley felt his eyes burning from the various typos and mispellings present in the story. Most puzzling, though, were the author's notes written at the beginnings and ends of chapters. After all, it was a freakin' memoir! Couldn't she talk about this kind of stuff in the story?

There were a great many parodies published online, which poked fun at My Immortal. However, in his own torturous reading of the story, Dudley found something that had never been mentioned in any of the parodies. Maybe it was his recent argument with Harry (which he still didn't understand) that led his thoughts down this path, or maybe his dad was right and too much reading dulled your observation skills: when you're reading something, you don't need to be very alert. You can always go back and look at it again. Therefore, Dudley, who didn't read very much, was much more observant than the average reader, allowing him to pick up on these details that other people missed. Whatever the cause, Dudley had an epiphany that no readers before him had ever had. Considering the subject matter from which he drew the epiphany, this revelation was nothing short of brilliant.

Dudley could work out that Ebony was supposed to be Tara, and that Ebony's best friend Willow was supposed to be Tara's best friend Raven. Everybody in the story seemed to know that Ebony was bisexual or "Bisezual." Therefore, it was easy to assume that Tara was bisexual as well. However, in her very first author's note described her best friend Raven as her GF (which Dudley assumed meant girlfriend), but hastened to add "Eww, not in that way!" Why "Eww?" Dudley wasn't even gay, but he wouldn't mind being boyfriends with Harry. It was easy to forget that they were technically related, as they were nothing alike and his parents tended to treat Harry like an annoying next-door-neighbor rather than a member of the family. But then he skimmed through the rest of the story and found out what relationships seemed to entail for this strange, strange girl. "Ewww" was right, in Dudley's opinion. But why would Tara/Ebony/Enoby feel that way? It just seemed strange for someone who was at least partly attracted to girls, someone who hooked up with guys she barely knew, to take offense at the possibility of having a romantic relationship with her best friend. Strangely, this crazy girl reminded him of his cousin in that way. Not that Harry hooked up with strangers. It was just that both of their best friends were of a gender they were attracted to, and both were apparently repulsed by the idea of hooking up with said best friends. It was maddening!

Still, since Dudley had spotted this similarity, he began to study My Immortal more closely than any reading assignment that any of his previous teachers had given him. He noted that while Ebony had absolutely no sexual interactions with any of the female characters, she seemed to have screwed or at least appeared in a "Paris Hilton video" for every male character in the story. Maybe Tara/Ebony was actually straight and being "Bisezual" was a Goth thing. So she was ashamed of being straight and pretending to be bisexual in order to appear more gothic! This theory made perfect sense to Dudley at two in the morning. Except Dudley knew that Harry was definitely into guys. While they were technically cousins, Dudley-who was not gay- thought it was only natural for Harry to have a bit of a crush on him, so why would Harry have a problem with it? Was he ashamed of being gay? But Harry was never one to be ashamed of any part of himself.

Then, he remembered a news report covering teenage girls who were starving themselves. They were pretty girls, but too thin. They had plenty of food, but they refused to eat any of it, since they were afraid of getting fat. The news station had interviewed a nurse, who had given this strange phenomenon a name "Ana- something or other," Dudley couldn't remember. He could remember his mother's reaction, though. When the reporter said that the disorder was increasing in boys, Aunt Petunia looked, horrified, at Dudley and Harry, who were sitting next to each other, Dudley eating quietly, Harry enthusiastically digging into his sausages. With an air of great determination, Aunt Petunia went into the kitchen and fried up another packet of sausages for the boys. Even Harry was allowed third helpings that morning.

When Dudley asked about "Ana-whatever" later, Aunt Petunia explained that children often saw themselves differently as they got older. They began to feel like they weren't pretty enough, weren't smart enough, weren't popular enough. Giving him a hug, she said the important thing to remember was that there are always people out there who love him just the way he is. Dudley smiled fondly at the memory. He did love his mum. With a start, he realized that he had never heard his mother say that kind of thing to Harry. Sure, she had given him extra sausages that one time at breakfast, and she had never laid a hand on him, but she seemed happier not interacting at all with Harry, other than to give him chores or send him to his cupboard.

Harry was getting older. Maybe he was going through these changes. Dudley didn't want his cousin's mind to go through that kind of stuff, even if it was a part of growing up. Christ, Dudley was the one having a birthday, but it was his cousin he had to worry about getting older. He didn't want Harry to grow up; he wanted Harry to remain happy, carefree, and flamboyant- his sassy gay friend. He just hoped that Harry remembered that Dudley, along with almost everyone he met, loved him to pieces before he was tempted to do anything stupid. Except, he was fighting with his best friend now! Who knew what that could do to Harry's head? He had to find some way of letting his cousin know that he loved him exactly the way he was.

On a whim, he typed "Hommosexuall" in his search bar. Google corrected the spelling and retrieved a ton of results, some more helpful than others. Dudley stayed up all night that night, researching various sites, occasionally taking notes. He quickly exited the PFLAG site he was looking at when his mother came into his room that morning to wish him a happy birthday. Dudley faked a smile, trying to pretend like he hadn't been up all night, as his mother excitedly led him into the dining room table, which was covered with presents for Dudley. Dudley's smile turned genuine when he saw Harry bring out plates of sausages. He hoped he could get some time alone with his cousin soon. He had found a whole bunch of tips for supporting homosexual friends and family members. He just knew that this whole thing could be fixed if he could just get a chance to speak to his cousin. It couldn't last long he told himself, unwrapping a brand-new camcorder. Harry would never be able to resist the prospect of Dudley making a video of him. That kid loved the spotlight.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to be avoiding him, and Dudley couldn't bring up the topic with his mum and dad around. So, he tried to remain enthusiastic as he opened each one of his thirty-nine presents from his parents and Aunt Marge. They were awesome presents, but Dudley knew that he would enjoy them more when he and Harry got to play with them together.

The family, plus one of Dudley's school friends, Piers Polkiss, would be taking a trip to the zoo in honor of Dudley's birthday. Harry and Dudley carried on a conversation about Piers' older brothers rugby championship, though neither of them spoke directly to each other. If Piers noticed anything strange about the cousins, he didn't bring it up. However, he did notice that Harry seemed kind of... off, so he was especially scrupulous about giving every last detail about his brother's role in winning the game. Harry always seemed to love hearing tales of his brother's athleticism, which was slightly weird, since Harry didn't normally care for sports. Still, Piers was happy to cheer Harry up by indulging him with details as well as reliving the exciting game.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and the zoo was crowded with families. The group was relatively quiet as the strolled past the various animal enclosures. Both of the elder Dursleys were in good moods, so there were no waspish criticisms (from Petunia) or bellowed complaints (from Vernon) concerning Young People Today, Harry, the overpriced gimmicky souvenirs for sale every few feet, Harry, people who smoked in crowded public areas, Harry, the price of tea in China, or Harry. Harry, uncharacteristically, was sticking close to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Dudley had a sneaking suspicion that Harry was trying to avoid him. Dudley and Piers never said much to each other, preferring instead to express their friendship through fist-bumps and noogies, so conversation was sparse all around.

After a nearly silent lunch, Petunia suggested getting out of the sun and into the cool, shady reptile enclosure. So the slightly sweaty group made their way over. Harry immediately found the biggest snake in the place: a Brazilian Boa Constrictor. He gazed through the glass into the enclosure, fascinated. He didn't even realize that Dudley and Piers were standing right behind him. Seeing that the snake was asleep and wasn't going to wake up anytime soon, Piers eventually got bored and went to look at something else. It was incredibly dull, staring at a sleeping snake with his best friend, who wouldn't speak to him even if he noticed that Dudley was standing right behind him. Still, Dudley had to make this right.

"Hey," he said, startling Harry. Harry jumped and turned around so quickly that he got a crick in his neck. Dudley tried to remember something sensitive and supportive that the websites told him to say to a gay friend, but he couldn't remember anything. Instead, he plunged right in and said, "So what was the deal last night?"

"Nothing," Harry mumbled non-flamboyantly.

"If it's nothing, then why did you kick me out of your cupboard? And why haven't you spoken to me since then?" Dudley demanded.

Harry stayed silent for a little while. It was long enough for Dudley to marshal his thoughts and come up with something supportive. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of," Dudley said, hearing how much older, how teacher-like he sounded. "Sure you're a little different, but that's what everybody likes about you." He held his breath, hoping this worked.

"I'm not ashamed," Harry replied. "I know I'm fabulous," he added tossing his hair. "But people treat you differently if they know, or if they even think, that you're gay. But you were never one of those people until last night."

"What do you mean?" Dudley asked puzzled. "Look, I don't have a problem with you being gay. I was looking up that My Immortal thing that you mentioned, and I came up with the theory that Tara and/or Ebony is kind of messed up in the head from having to pretend that she likes girls as well as guys. I mean, everyone in Ebony's school seems to know that she's bisexual, but have you seen her with any girls? And she seemed so grossed-out by the idea of a relationship with her best friend. I came to the conclusion that somewhere along the line, she learned that being 'Bisezual' is 'Goffic,' so she pretended to like girls in order to fit the mold. I don't want that kind of thing happening to you. For my birthday, what I really want is for you to be proud of who you are. I would never be one of those people who treat you like crap because you like boys."

"Dudley," Harry sighed. "Just because Ebony/Enoby likes girls doesn't mean she wants to get into the pants of every girl she sees."

"Well, Enoby has no problems getting into the pants of every guy she sees. She has no room to be offended by the suggestion of a romantic relationship between her and her best friend if she claims to like girls the way she likes guys. Especially when we get to see in graphic, poorly-written detail the way she likes guys. From reading that stupid memoir, I have some idea of what Ebony would be doing if she was actually bisexual as she claims to be."

Harry stared at him in shocked silence. "I believe you're the first person to ever come to that conclusion after reading My Immortal," His cousin said, something resembling awe in his voice.

"That's because I'm the first one who has ever looked at it with a truly open mind, you know?" said Dudley. "Everyone else just looks at it enough to copy and paste it for their parodies, then reach for the brain bleach. My genuine interest in what has been dubbed the 'World's Worst Memoir' has led me to assess the material on a deeper plane of thought. Therefore, I have these literary epiphanies that other, less contemplative, readers are fortunate enough to miss."

"Well, maybe you do have a point about the My Immortal bisexuality thing," Harry conceded, his anger at Dudley seeming to lessen. "If this Ebony person had any feelings at all for any females, it would be out there in black and white with more typos and bad drama than I ever thought possible. I also have to consider the fact that if you are completely wrong about this, you just read My Immortal for nothing. Nobody deserves that."

"See!" said Dudley, as if he had proven a point beyond any reasonable doubt. "I don't have a problem with gays! I have a problem with people who have a problem with gays! I looked up 'Homosexuality' on the Internet last night and found some pretty sick shit!" He paused as his cousin winced. "Not sick like that!" Dudley hastened to add. "I mean sick like people hating other people just because they like the same sex. People telling others that they're going to Hell because of who they love. Governments not allowing two people of the same sex the right to marry, even while approving the unholy alliance of a 62 year-old millionaire and his fifth 18 year-old trophy wife. Kids not much older than you and me being bullied because of their sexual orientation, not having anyone to turn to. Children killing themselves, believing that nobody could understand or accept these feelings. That's way sicker than any shit my widdle baby cousin could ever think of doing with a guy."

"Dudley, I'm not ashamed of being gay," Harry repeated. "And I know that you don't have a problem with me being gay."

"Then why were you all upset last night when I was asking about you turning me gay?" Dudley asked.

"Well, Dudley," Harry said, "Imagine how you would feel if you were one of the poor unfortunate males in Tara's travesty of a memoir. From the moment you are introduced, it is expected that you fall in love with (or at least want to screw) a strange 'Goffic' girl of questionable attractiveness and with no redeeming qualities except a willingness to get it on. All this because you are a guy who is at least partly into girls. Wouldn't it suck to have everyone just expect you to fall in love with someone as loathsome as Enoby just because she's the right gender?"

"That would suck," Dudley admitted. "I would lose all sexual prowess if I were a young man in that situation. I would, like, never have an erection again, because I would be like a girl, you sicko!" (A/N: reference to an actual quote in My Immortal: "Like an erection, except I don't get one because I'm a girl, you sicko.")

"Umm... Dudley? Girls do get erections," said Harry slowly. "But steering away from that unpleasant topic, it's not only incorrect but also ignorant and small-minded to assume that gay guys want any guy they see. It's one of the ways homophobics convince other people to treat gays like second-class citizens. I mean, would you want to give equal rights to a group of men who would molest you the first chance they got?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Dudley insisted. "I was just joking around!"

"I know, Dudley. But that kind of stuff really gets to me. I hate the fact that this sort of thing gets passed around even by people who don't have a problem with homosexuality. I know that people who actually believe that kind of stuff don't know what they're talking about, but those are still people who can vote, can have children, can write novels, can run for office. Whether people realize it or not, those kinds of comments affect how people are treated. Saying things like that, whether it's meant hurtfully or not, maintain an attitude in which an entire group of people are treated as second class citizens."

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Dudley sincerely. "I didn't mean to make you upset."

"That's okay," Harry replied, pulling his cousin into a one-armed hug. "I should have told you about this before instead of giving you the cold shoulder all this time." The two cousins grinned, watching the snake begin to stir with their arms around each other's shoulders.

"Wow," Dudley said in awe.

"I know; the snake's beautiful isn't it?" Said Harry.

"I'm not talking about the snake," said Dudley. "I was just in awe over the fact that My Immortal taught me a lesson about homophobia."

"Well, we all see what we want to see in art," mused Harry.

"Oh, no. The message was clearly there," said Dudley, with the air of a missionary attempting to convert a pagan to the true faith or an over-zealous Jehovah Witness standing at an Atheist's doorstep in the middle of a hurricane. "Everybody else was either too stupid or traumatized to see it."

"If you say so, Dudley," Harry replied cheekily.

The idyllic moment was interrupted when both Harry and Dudley were shoved forward into the glass of the snake's enclosure. Harry thought it was Piers and was about to protest the rough handling until he heard a unfamiliar, menacing voice say, "Hey, faggots! Get a room!"

Harry turned around to see two larger boys glaring down at him and Dudley. Despite the fact that they were both about a foot taller than he was, he gave each of them a death glare as he readjusted Tangy around his neck. "I don't like that word," Harry said, his calmness doing nothing to conceal his irritation, but one must be polite. "I don't like people who resort to violence to get their point across. Chances are, we won't like each other very much. So, I think it is best for all concerned if you turned around and walked away."

"Ooohhh... who's this who thinks he's so tough?" the bigger of the two boys asked, stepping closer. Harry could smell the burger on his breath. He wrinkled his nose. This guy must have ordered extra onions.

"Get the Hell away from my cousin!" Dudley barked, stomping on the large boy's foot. Dudley knew that, as strong as he was, the two boys were older and larger. There was no way he could win by fighting fair. So, he did what his dad always told him to do and fought dirty.

The boy turned his attention to Dudley, at which point Dudley kicked him in his sausage factory. Unlike when he was fighting Harry last night, this kick was right on target. The boy doubled over in pain. The guy's friend looked angry, but instead of taking it out on Dudley, he turned to the more diminutive Harry and threw the flamboyantly dressed boy to the ground. Dudley was about to give this guy what his dad called "The old one-two," but the cowardly boy pulled his friend to his feet and ran off before Dudley got the chance.

Seething with anger, Dudley turned around to pull Harry to his feet. It was then that he noticed that he had an extremely close-up view of the snake. It was as though the snake's head was popping out through the glass... the glass... where had the glass gone? The snake was slithering out of its enclosure surprisingly quickly for an animal so large. Dudley had just enough time to drag Harry out of the reptile's path before they both watched the snake make it's way through the crowd of terrified people. Harry noticed that the snake seemed to be moving in the same direction as the boys who were bothering him and Dudley. A part of him wished that the Boa Constrictor caught up with them.

Piers was with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shopping for souvenirs to remind them all of their trip to the reptile house. If they had known that on the day of their visit, a large Brazilian Boa Constrictor would escape, thereby making the day unforgettable, they would not have spent their money. By the time the adults were able to figure out the gist of what just happened from the shouts from the crowd, locate Harry and Dudley, and usher them to the car, news vans had already arrived. As they made their way out of the zoo, Harry noticed the two boys who had picked a fight with him and Dudley being interviewed by a reporter. One boy swore that the snake tried to squeeze his head off, while the other claimed that the snake tried to bite off his family jewels. Upon hearing this, the cousins had trouble smothering a laugh.

When they got home, Uncle Vernon collapsed into a chair, looking angrier than Harry had ever seen him. For some reason, this anger seemed to be directed at Harry, but Uncle Vernon could do nothing more than gesture towards Harry and say, "Go- cupboard- stay- no meals." Aunt Petunia didn't look angry at all. Instead, her face was pale and fearful as she ran to the kitchen to fetch her husband a large brandy. Harry, on the other hand, was livid. As much as he wanted to set a snake on those jerks at the zoo, he had nothing to do with the snake's escape. Harry refused to hide who he was, claiming that he had a personality that was too fabulous to be tamed. Therefore, it was painfully obvious to everybody that he was gay. The decent people accepted him for it, but there would always be assholes in the world that detested him for something he couldn't control. And now he had to put up with his idiotic guardians who thought that just because he was gay, he had a giant snake at his command. Too angry to even say anything, Harry ran into his cupboard and slammed the door.

Some time later, Dudley visited Harry in his cupboard, only to be met with a red-eyed, tousle-haired Harry fiddling with his orange scarf and claiming that he wanted to be left alone. Dudley left, not knowing what he could say to someone in that state. The tips he had gotten from his research seemed trite and formulaic when dealing with Harry's situation. Maybe he should just wait until Harry felt better.

Then, his eye fell on his brand new camcorder. Maybe he could make Harry feel better after all. Dudley grabbed the video camera and set off.

Sunday evening found Dudley holding a videotape behind his back and standing inside the luxurious cupboard of a considerably more cheerful Harry Potter. Harry sat on the bed, grinning up at his cousin. "So what's the surprise?" Harry asked, twirling Tangy excitedly.

"I made a video for you with the camcorder I got for my birthday," Dudley began, showing Harry the tape. "I had wanted you to be the star of the first video I ever made with this thing, but since you were... under the weather, I wanted to make you a video that would cheer you up and show you how much everybody who really knows you loves you. When I was researching homosexuality, I found a bunch of videos aimed at telling gay kids that even if it seems like nobody likes them, they shouldn't give up, 'cause it gets better. I wanted to do something like that, but personalized for your viewing enjoyment. So... yeah... enjoy it," Dudley finished somewhat lamely.

He put the video in the VCR and sat on the bed next to Harry. He noticed a plate of sausages that he couldn't remember seeing before. However, he shrugged this off as there always seemed to be plates of sausages when he and Harry watched movies on Harry's big-screen TV. He used one hand to snag an Italian sausage, his favorite kind, and put his other arm around Harry's shoulders as the movie started.

A rather badass picture of a Boa Constrictor- much like the one that allegedly attacked the bullies at the zoo- appeared with the words "It Gets Better: A Dudley Dursley Production."

"That's me!" Dudley said in a stage whisper.

"No freakin' way!" Harry whispered back. "I'm your biggest fan! Can I have your autograph?"

The two laughed together but quickly shut up when the actual movie started.

The first scene showed five girls from Harry's class: Amy, Mandy, Lillian, Jenna, and Victoria. Harry often played with these girls at recess and spent hours after school singing and dancing to various pop songs and show tunes with them. The girls also took ballet classes and cheerfully spent time teaching Harry the beautiful but difficult form of dance. For the first part of their scene, they sat, holding hands, in the grass in Victoria's backyard and looked up at the camera.

"Hey, Harry," said Amy. "We know you're hurting."

"We know you sometimes may not feel like other boys," Jenna added.

"We understand that you're going through some things that most of us kids don't have to deal with," said Victoria.

"But know that, even if we aren't going through the exact same thing you are, we are here to listen," Mandy said.

"You listened to me when we were eight, and my very first boyfriend moved away," Amy recalled.

"You were so kind and supportive when I thought that I was too fat to ever be a good ballerina," Mandy smiled. "I owe every successful dance move to you, because you encouraged me to stick with ballet."

"You helped me with my schoolwork when I thought I was too stupid to do anything but look pretty," Lillian added. "You helped me see that being Dyslexic doesn't mean that I'm stupid."

"You were there for me when I was the new girl, too shy to make friends," said Jenna. "Because of you, I'm best mates with all these crazy girls here." The girls all giggled.

"You were a shoulder to cry on when my Nana died," Victoria said, eyes clouding slightly at the memory. "When you held my hand at the funeral, I knew that my world wasn't over and that I would always have my friends."

"We love you, Harry," the girls said in unison.

"If you ever need anyone to talk to anytime, day or night, call us," Said Amy.

"Harry," Victoria said sincerely, "You are such a fabulous person that any darkness in the world is overwhelmed by the light that shines from you. Remember that and don't let yourself be blinded."

The girls then performed Swan Lake, something they had been practicing in their ballet class, in Harry's honor. Back in his cupboard, Harry applauded loudly as though they could hear him. "Brava! Brava!" he shouted.

"Harry, remember, darling, anytime you have a problem, you can always talk to us. And most importantly of all," Jenna paused, then all of the girls shouted "IT GETS BETTER!"

The movie went on, detailing performances and well-wishes by Harry's friends. Even Mrs. Figg, along with several of her cats, made an appearance, telling Harry to "Hang in there!"

Each message was concluded by the slogan "It gets better." After a few scenes, Harry knew to expect this and joined in with the performers when they said this.

Dudley had saved what he knew would be Harry's favorite scene for the end. The grand finale. "Dude, I promise you, it gets better," Piers was saying. (Harry enthusiastically joined in on the "It gets better" part). "Especially for an awesome bloke like you. I mean, even my brother likes you," Harry gasped, clutching his heart with an expression of pure ecstasy on his face. "And you know how grouchy he is. Well, actually, you don't know how grouchy he is, since he's always super nice to you. If even my brother loves you..."

Dudley had to pause the video for an hour as Harry began bouncing on the bed, squealing with joy. He didn't even pause to draw breath. After Harry finished his happy-dance, he moved back to his seat next to Dudley, crossed his legs, and folded his hands in his lap as though nothing had happened. Dudley slung his arm back around his cousin's shoulders and started the video back up.

"Then that should tell you that anyone who has a problem with you either has really bad taste or is a complete idiot. Like an even bigger idiot than my brother if you can imagine that."

Dudley could swear he heard Harry whisper "Blasphemy!" 

"Anyway, the big brother from Hell wanted to do something for this video of yours, so without further ado..." Piers opened the door he had been standing in front of. Harry gasped. It was the first time he had ever seen the bedroom of the older Polkiss sibling. It looked like a typical fourteen year-old boy's room. The walls were covered with posters from various rock and roll bands. There was a pile of dirty laundry in one corner, and the books had apparently been swept off the bookshelf and onto the floor to make room for various sports trophies. Sitting on the rumpled bed and holding a guitar was (Harry's heart skipped a beat) Piers' adorable older brother. "I now present the baboon with the guitar!" Piers finished.

Piers' brother idly threw a pillow at Piers, which hit him in the face. "That should shut him up for a bit," said the older Polkiss boy, giving the camera a cocky grin. In his cupboard, Harry grinned back. "Now, listen, kid, I'm no expert on homosexuality. I saw Brokeback Mountain once, but I didn't get much out of it. I mean, I'm pretty sure that something went on in that tent... not sure what, but... I'm starting to ramble." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. Harry giggled, and Dudley smirked. "Anyway, I do know that you're the only one of my little brother's compatriots that I actually like..."

"Hey!" said Dudley from off-screen.

"Well, I kind of tolerate Dudley, too," Piers' brother amended quickly.

"That's better," Dudley sniffed.

"So, as someone with such discerning taste in people, I am more than qualified to tell you that a great bloke like you deserves acceptance, friendship, and love..."

Cue another video pause by Dudley, The Mighty Controller of the Remote.

"He said 'Love!' He said 'Love!'" Harry screamed, literally turning cartwheels around his spacious cupboard.

"From everyone you meet." Piers' brother continued fifteen minutes later. Harry's grin grew wider with every word that the teenaged boy spoke. Dudley struggled not to laugh at Harry's expression as his cousin stared intently at the television as if it were delivering a message from his God, telling him the secret handshake you had to do at the Pearly Gates to get into Heaven.

"However, I also know that in the real world, that's not always going to be the case. There are always going to be people who will push away those who are different from them. There will always be places in the world where differences are not appreciated." He paused. Harry stared unblinkingly at the TV, a slight frown on his face. "But," he continued. "There will always be people who celebrate your differences and see you for the great guy you really are. There will always be places where your differences are what everybody treasures most about you.

I heard that Dudley just turned eleven." He paused in his speech to say a quick, "Happy birthday, Dudley!" to the boy behind the camera, "And that your birthday's not far behind."

"He remembers my birthday!" Harry cried. "Could he be more perfect?" He caught sight of Dudley staring at him and blushed. "Er... I meant, 'Yay! I'm going to be eleven soon!'"

"You're not the pipsqueak I remember being pushed around by the neighborhood kids when you were five." At this point, Dudley shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the bed, remembering that he was one of the "Neighborhood kids" who pushed his smaller cousin around. "You're getting older, and it's inevitable that you're life will get more complicated. It happens to everybody. But if you can remember to keep that same joy, sense of fun, and enthusiasm as you grow, you will stay young on the inside, no matter how old you are. And as long as you're young in your heart, you will be able to ride out the tough times and remain optimistic for the future. So, I'd like to sing you this song to remind you to stay young."

"He's singing me a song!" Harry cried enthusiastically, bouncing in his seat.

"Do you need me to pause the video again?" Dudley asked, holding the remote threateningly.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed. "Don't pause it right before he's about to sing! I'll be good, I promise!"

Piers brother strummed the opening notes of a song Harry had heard on the radio a few times. He opened his mouth and Harry swore an angel's voice sang the words:

"May the good Lord be with you 

Down every road that you roam

And may sunshine and happiness

Surround you when you're far from home

And may you grow to be proud, dignified and true

And do unto others as you'd have done to you

Be courageous and be brave 

And in my heart you'll always stay

Forever young, forever young 

Forever young, forever young 

May good fortune be with you

May your guiding light be strong 

Build a stairway to Heaven

With a prince or a vagabond 

And may you never love in vain

And in my heart you will remain 

Forever young, forever young 

Forever young, forever young 

Forever young, forever young, yeah

And when you finally fly away

I'll be hoping that I served you well 

For all the wisdom of a lifetime 

No one can ever tell 

But whatever road you choose

I'm right behind you, win or lose 

Forever young, forever young 

Forever young, forever young 

Forever young, forever young 

For, forever young, forever young" 

They ended up playing the song twenty-seven times before Harry felt ready to continue to the last part of the elder Polkiss' speech.

"So, yeah, that's my song for you."

"For me! Did you hear that? His song for me!" Harry crowed.

"I hope you liked it, and I hope you take it to heart." He suddenly scowled threateningly. "I also hope you know that if anybody EVER lays a hand on you like those dicks at the zoo, I will kick their asses! Keep that in mind, and remember..."

Harry and the teenaged Polkiss said the last part together "It gets better!" before Harry swooned.

"It does indeed get better," Harry grinned, gazing dreamily at the image of his very-obvious-but-would-deny-if-asked-about-it crush faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone says anything, I deliberately didn't give Piers' brother a name in this chapter. This is because I kind of have an idea for another one-shot (if I update again which I probably will) where this is BUM BUM BUM BUM... an important plot point. You can find the video of the Forever Young song here (just get rid of the spaces) 
> 
> http : / www . youtube . com / watch ? v=yGEe_zpddNI&feature = related
> 
> So, what did you think? I know it was different from previous chapters, but I had fun writing it (especially the My Immortal jokes. Seriously, that theory of repressed HETEROsexuality present in Ebony, which causes her to feel insecure as a "Goff," leading her to overcompensate (creating the "plot") is the most brilliant thing I've ever come up with. I wanted to go more into detail on this, but it took away from the plot. I ended up deleting whole PARAGRAPHS that detailed this phenomena. If you don't know what My Immortal is, just Google it, or you can search for "Worst fanfiction ever." Also note that in the story, My Immortal is a crazy girl's memoirs that attracted a bunch of readers with too much time on their hands, while in the real world, it's a fanfiction that... pretty much did the same thing). Please review.


	4. Chapter Four

Meet Dudley Dursley. The eleven-year-old is in the thrall of his first crush, as demonstrated by the fact that he is currently standing on the roof of his house, leaning forward slightly in order to gain the best view of Mandy Thompson, the pretty girl who lived next door. Currently, Mandy was playing some weird game with her girlfriends, plus Harry. She didn't notice Dudley's eyes on her, and Dudley, despite his boisterous, outgoing personality, was more than happy to keep it that way. Dudley always ended up blushing and stammering out something stupid whenever he talked to her, leaving Mandy to question the intelligence of straight boys everywhere. So, really, it was better for all parties if Dudley just admired her from afar.

So, Dudley chose to spend that afternoon standing on the roof of his house to spy on the pretty girl next door. Of course, as Dudley leaned forward further in order to get a closer look at his crush, it would be inevitable that all of his weight would eventually shift forward, causing him to lose his footing and utterly humiliate himself by falling off the roof. This fate could have been avoided if he had a sassy gay friend.

"What are you doing? What, what, WHAT are you doing?" screamed a familiar voice. Dudley yelled out in surprise and lost his balance, falling off the roof. He didn't injure himself- neither he nor Harry ever got seriously hurt no matter what antics they got into- but the girls playing next door did look over and giggle at Dudley's plight (once they saw he wasn't seriously hurt, of course). Dudley blushed. Apparently for Dudley Dursley, this fate would not be avoided, sassy gay friend or no.

Harry had been standing on the roof behind him, even though Dudley could swear he saw Harry playing in Mandy's backyard just a moment ago. How the heck did Harry get up there that quickly? Harry quickly jumped down two stories to land on the ground next to Dudley (gracefully and on his feet, of course. How did Harry do shit like that?).

"How did you get on the roof that fast?" Dudley asked his cousin, not really wanting to go into why he himself was on the roof.

"Oh, I've had lots of practice," Harry said airily, tossing his hair like he was that blond girl from that musical he liked so much. Toss, toss. 

"When have you ever had practice climbing on the roof?" Asked Dudley, puzzled.

"Oh, you never know when it will work to my advantage to be able to see over fences into other people's yards. You know, if I ever want to see what our neighbors are up to." Harry was blushing, uncharacteristically shy as he said this. Dudley could not help but notice the way his cousin's green eyes shifted towards Piers' house, which was right next door to their own, on the opposite side of Mandy's house. Now that Dudley listened closely, he could hear from behind the tall wooden fence the sound of Piers' elder brother strumming his guitar in the backyard, oblivious to everything else. It looked like he and Harry were in the same boat.

The younger boy looked up at Dudley, then looked over to Mandy's yard. Realization seemed to dawn in his vibrant green eyes, and Harry suddenly looked like he was fighting back a giggle. "Dudley and Mandy sitting in a tree," Harry sang quietly, and the music coming from Piers' brother's guitar seemed to harmonize with him. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

"Oh, shut up," Dudley grouched, whacking his cousin on the arm.

"No need to get all grumpy, Dudley. I can help you with this," Harry said, delighted at the opportunity to play Cupid. "We will make Mandy fall madly in love with you!"

"How are we going to do that?" Dudley asked doubtfully.

"Simple, dear cousin. I will give you lessons on how to be the perfect boyfriend."

"And how are you going to do that?" Dudley asked. "You've never had a boyfriend."

"Dudley, Dudley," Harry said shaking his head pityingly. "The first book I've ever read was an issue of Cosmo magazine cover-to-cover. I've seen every romantic comedy worth talking about, and, despite never receiving any money for new clothes, the wardrobe that I've created for myself makes Coco Chanel look positively destitute. Trust me, being a good boyfriend isn't about having a lot of experience. It's about style! So come on, let's get started. No offense, but you've got a long way to go." Harry pulled his cousin by the hand and dragged him into his cupboard-cum-beauty salon/department store.

Twenty four hours later, Harry declared Dudley's new look to be finished. Dudley, who had somehow managed to fall asleep standing up, jerked awake to find himself wearing all new clothes. He had on a tight black shirt that showed off his developing muscles, equally tight black jeans, some sort of red high-heeled boot, and a smart red leather jacket. A sparkly blue scarf completed the ensemble. "I'm thinking of naming your scarf Peri... short for periwinkle," Harry informed him. There were bags under his eyes, and he had a slightly manic grin on his face. Dudley had seen these signs before whenever his cousin had a "fashion epiphany" and spent all night fiddling with his clothes. Dudley could already tell that Harry would be slightly unglued, working purely on adrenaline, until he could be convinced to get some rest. "I think Peri and Tangy would be such good friends," Harry continued, brandishing his own, ever-present neon-orange scarf.

Dudley made to steer his cousin to the inexplicably large bed, but Harry would have none of that. "I cannot rest when romance is afoot!" The flamboyant ten year-old declared, dragging Dudley out to the yard. Before they opened the gate to go into Mandy's yard, Harry gave Dudley some last-minute advice. "Mandy likes talking about fashion," Harry informed him. "Your makeover should help with that, but you should also act interested when she talks about clothes. I know you're a straight boy and it's difficult, but do it for love. Oooh! Speaking of love, Mandy loves Broadway musicals. I know you don't know much about them, but if we end up having a conversation about Broadway, just follow my lead and you should be fine. I'm theatrical enough for the both of us, after all."

When they made it into Mandy's backyard, the pretty girl squealed in delight and hugged Harry. She looked at Dudley, puzzled, then asked, "Who's your friend, Harry?"

"That's Dudley, my cousin," Harry replied. "You've met him."

Mandy squealed again as the other girls crowded around Dudley for a closer look. Dudley beamed. He had no idea that his flamboyantly gay cousin was this good at attracting girls. It wasn't fair, really. "Oh, Dudley, you look gorgeous!" Mandy squealed enthusiastically.

"I love your hair," Victoria put in, stroking the golden locks that Harry had stylishly moussed, probably while Dudley was sleeping.

"And your scarf matches your blue eyes," Jenna added.

"This is your work, isn't it, Harry?" Mandy asked, smiling knowingly.

"Of course," Said Harry modestly. "Who else could create something so fabulous?"

The girls all giggled at this. "Oh, Dudley, you look so cute," Mandy enthused. "I just have to hug you!" And she threw her arms around a shocked (but pleased) Dudley Dursley. It wasn't long before all of the girls plus Harry insisted on giving Dudley a hug. The friends spent the next few minutes locked in a group embrace.

"OK, enough of that," Harry said in a business-like fashion, clapping his hands together in a brisk manner that belied his tiredness. "We need to think of a fabulous musical number to perform for the school's talent show. Remember, ladies, this will be our last performance before we all go off to secondary school, so we have to make it good. Dudley and I have been working on a number that sums up our feelings for each other..." Harry was interrupted by the girls all cooing at this comment. Dudley silently panicked. He had never worked on a musical number with Harry. What the deuce was his cousin talking about?

"And so, without further ado," Harry continued, throwing his arms around Dudley's shoulders, "We present an edited version of the song 'Awfully Different' from the Family Guy episode 'Road to Europe.'"

"Harry," Dudley hissed, as catchy music began to play out of nowhere, "How am I supposed to perform in a musical number I've never practiced before?"

"Oh, relax Dudley. The whole point of musicals is spontaneity, fun, and fabulousness! It'll come to you! Just follow your heart!"

Even Dudley knew that a perfectly performed musical took months of rehearsing, but he knew better than to argue with Harry when his sassy gay cousin was in this sleep-deprived, not fully sane state. Dudley sighed and prepared to make a complete fool of himself, like he always did around Mandy. At least he would still have a sassy gay friend to comfort him and assure him that he had at least looked fabulous while acting like a complete buffoon.

Harry began to sing, and Dudley quickly picked up on the lyrics and melody so that their voices blended seamlessly together.

"You and I are, 

So awfully different, 

Too awfully different, 

To ever be pals" 

OK, so far, so good. If he could just sing with Harry through the rest of this little number, he should do all right. However, Harry had to ruin his feelings of relief by asking "Do you want to go first?"

Dudley couldn't back down from that challenge, not with Mandy watching. He had to man up and perform the best musical number Little Whinging had ever seen. "Yeah, I'll go," Dudley replied determinedly. Then, he sang the first thing that came to his mind:

"You say that Tyler 

Should end up with Jack"

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flashback! Clarifying flashback! 

Dudley remembered well the debate the two of them had after watching Fight Club. He remembered Harry's disappointed squeals when it turned out that the average-looking narrator (officially nameless, but often known as Jack) and the blond, handsome Tyler Durden turned out to be the same person. Harry was particularly crushed as he had spent half the movie (when he wasn't giggling with joy over the shirtless, sweaty dudes rolling around fighting) enthusing over what a cute (if dysfunctional) couple Tyler and Jack made.

When Jack had finally vanquished Tyler (to Harry's anguished moans of "Noooooooooooo! He's too pretty to die!") and ended up with Marla, Harry was numb. He gazed at the credits rolling across the screen, no longer showing any signs of anger or sadness. Instead, he said in a calm, teacher-like tone: "I believe this movie sends the wrong message."

"Why?" Dudley had asked. "Is it because of the excessive violent scenes, heavy sexual content, glorification of rebellion, and material inappropriate for young children such as ourselves?"

"Pffft... of course not. Don't be ridiculous!" Harry replied. "I'm simply saying that the end of the movie, wherein the undeniably homosexual Jack kills off his better half to be with the psychotic bitch Marla Singer, gives false hope to fag hags everywhere. I worry about this movie getting the attention of women who have unrealized crushes on their gay male best friend. If the viewer is not entirely sane, she could find herself yearning for the perfect Marla Singer ending."

"So you're saying that crazy women who have crushes on gay men will think the key to a happy ending is to have said crush kill their roommate/live-in lover? The gay Prince Charming will then turn to the woman, take her by the hand, and stand with her as they stare out the window at a bunch of buildings exploding?" Dudley asked, just to clear things up.

"Yeah," said Harry simply. "The women I'm talking about would have to be pretty crazy. But it could happen! It could totally happen!"

"Whatever," Dudley said, deciding not to push it. After all, Harry had been pretty supportive of Dudley's theories on My Immortal back in chapter three. 

Ahhh... Flashback humor. Now back to the song.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's totally canon!" Snapped Harry. Then, he sang:

"Their little spat was 

Just a minor setback!"

"Oh, you mean the 'spat' where Tyler ended up with a bullet in his neck?" Dudley clarified. 

"Yes exactly," said Harry. Then he continued to sing:

"I've a style flair, 

Just look at my hip hair!" he crooned, whilst running his fingers through his perfectly coiffed locks.

"Yeah that's quite a nice do, there," Dudley admitted.

"Oh, thanks," Said Harry, grinning modestly.

"For NOOGIES!" Dudley continued, attempting to grab his cousin and give him one of his famous noogies. Seriously, his noogies were, like, legendary around Little Whinging. Harry gracefully dodged his cousin while making it look like a well-practiced dance move.

"There's not 

A whole lot 

That we've got 

To agree on," both cousins sang.

"Cause I care deeply about rugby scores," Dudley explained.

"And I like those singers who look like whores," Harry finished.

"Ricky Martin, K-Fed, and Justin Bieber?" Dudley asked, not caring that these three singers obviously didn't belong to the same cultural timeline.

"Love 'em," Harry confirmed.

"We're too different to ever be pals," Harry and Dudley chorused. "You and I are," they continued.

The girls began acting as their back-up dancers. "Doo-doo-doo," sang Harry's girlfriends as they swayed in the background.

"So awfully different," Harry and Dudley continued.

"Doo-doo-doo," chorused the girls.

"Too awfully different," the cousins belted out.

"Doo-doo-doo!" 

"To ever be pals!" 

"Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-yoo, doo-doo!" 

"Your wear enough hairspray 

To stop a hurricane!" Dudley informed his cousin.

"It's good to be prepared," Harry replied with dignity. Then he sang:

"You have big muscles, 

Instead of a brain!" 

Dudley almost chuckled at the sassy insult, but that would have broken character. Instead, he sang:

"Won't it be dandy, 

If you could date Tangy?" He asked, referring to the neon-orange scarf always wrapped loosely around his cousin's neck. Because, Harry had a bond with that stupid little accessory. A connection so deep that nobody else could possibly understand it.

"That would be cool," Harry admitted. He would have considered this option if his heart did not exclusively belong to Piers' hunky elder brother. He just hoped the teenager would realize it, already.

"You may think, 

We're in sync," Harry and Dudley sang together.

"But we stink as a duo!" They continued.

"Cause you're full of fabulous fashion tricks!" Dudley told his cousin.

"Not to mention my fondness for very large..." Harry began.

"Whoa! You can't say that in the school talent show!" Said Dudley.

"What? Muscles?" Harry asked innocently.

"Never mind," said Dudley, shaking his head.

"We're too different to ever be pals!" The cousins, who were ironically the best of pals, concluded.

The girls applauded enthusiastically. "That was brilliant, you guys," Mandy squealed. Dudley felt himself going red at the praise.

The group continued chatting about fashion, celebrity gossip, and Broadway musicals until dusk fell. As instructed, Dudley followed Harry's lead in these conversations. Thanks to Dudley's classroom-honed skill of faking knowledge whenever he could and keeping his mouth shut when he couldn't, an observer would never have guessed that Dudley really had no idea what he was talking about. He wound up sitting on the grass next to Mandy. At some point during the conversation, he casually put his arms around Mandy's shoulders. To Dudley's surprise, she didn't pull away or yell at him or anything. In fact, she put her arm around Dudley's shoulders as the conversation went on. Dudley, who had only been listening with half an ear, zoned out completely as he and Mandy held each other in a friendly embrace. He couldn't believe that all it took to get a girl to like him was a makeover and pretending to know about fashion. But then, he should have guessed. Harry loved fashion and makeovers, and Mandy was always hanging out with him.

The sun was setting, so the group started to split up and go home. Soon, only Harry, Dudley, and Mandy were left. "I should be getting on," Harry yawned, while giving Dudley a subtle wink. "It's been a long day."

So Dudley was left to chat with Mandy about inconsequential things. Eventually, it began to grow dark, and she said she needed to go inside. Dudley walked her to her door. He could practically hear his sassy gay cousin's voice in his head: "Now's your chance, you stupid bitch! Do something romantic! Sweep her off her feet!"

So, without further ado, Dudley bent over slightly to give Mandy a quick kiss on the lips. After a confused pause, Mandy kissed back, and Dudley thought he would explode from happiness.

They pulled apart and gazed at each other silently. Dudley, desperate to break the awkward silence, said "You taste like MiO."

Mandy giggled. "What?"

"Your lips tasted like Fruit Punch MiO," Dudley clarified, silently cursing Harry's influence on him, not to mention his seemingly endless supply of the addicting beverage.

"That's what Harry said whenever he kissed me," Mandy laughed.

"What? When did Harry kiss you? Harry likes guys!"

"We were little kids," Mandy explained, "Six years old. We both wanted to know what it was like to kiss someone else, so we gave it a try."

"Oh." Dudley guessed that a gay guy, even one as obviously flamboyant as his cousin, at least had to try kissing girls before he decided that he liked guys.

"I've always liked spending time with you, Dudley, but you always seemed so shy," Mandy said. "I'm glad your cousin helped you come out of your shell."

"Yeah, Harry's really good at giving makeovers and advice and stuff," Said Dudley. "Um... do you want to kiss again?" He leaned forward hopefully.

"I can't, Dudley," Said Mandy. Dudley's face fell. Was he really that bad of a kisser. "I mean, I can't give myself false hope like that," Mandy clarified. "I know better than to expect the perfect Marla Singer ending with you, and I can't stand to have my heart broken."

"Harry's told you his Fight Club theory, too?" Dudley asked.

"Yes," Mandy giggled. "He had to bring over a copy of the video so I could understand what he was talking about, but once I saw the movie, I thought his theory was brilliant. I mean, Tyler and the Narrator were so obviously in love with each other. But that stupid Marla Singer had to ruin it."

They both laughed, though Dudley didn't find Harry's theory as brilliant as Mandy apparently did. As original as it was to apply it to Fight Club, it still sounded like something that a slash-loving fangirl (or someone sharing that mindset) would come up with.

Still, he couldn't dwell on the artistic debate he was having with his cousin. He had a confusing conversation with a girl to navigate through.

"Well of course you won't get a 'Perfect Marla Singer ending,'" Said Dudley. "Harry is not the leader of an anarchistic cult, I'm not a repressed thirty year-old, neither of us are planning to blow up any credit card companies, and we're both clearly different people."

"I know all that," Said Mandy. "I meant the other thing."

"What other thing?" Dudley asked puzzled.

"I mean about you. I can see it clearly now. The new clothes, the hair, the periwinkle scarf..."

"It's name is Peri," Said Dudley, fiddling with the scarf, just as he had often seen Harry play with Tangy.

Mandy smiled, although it did not reach her eyes. Dudley thought that she was about to start crying. He patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. "What can you see about me?" He asked.

"I know now that you like guys," Mandy said quietly. "As much as I like you, I can't turn into Marla Singer and ruin your chance at a fabulous lifestyle with a charming, handsome roommate."

Dudley had nothing against gays, but this was getting annoying fast. "I'm NOT gay!" He yelled. "I let Harry give me a makeover and pretended to know shit about fashion and musicals because I wanted you to like me. I like girls. No, that's a lie. I like you."

"Oh, Dudley," Mandy squealed, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. "That's the sweetest thing a straight guy has ever done for me!" Dudley grinned and blushed.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Dudley asked.

"That depends," Mandy said, "Want to shop for clothes with me? I know a store that sells the cutest tops."

Dudley's mind quickly waged war between his desire to spend time with Mandy and the fact that he had had enough of fashion to last him a lifetime. Musicals were okay when he was the one performing, but if Dudley had to think about patterns or color coordination again, he would scream.

Mandy smirked at the look on Dudley's face. "Or," she said. "We can go see the soccer game at the new stadium. Not many people know this about me, but I'm a die-hard West-Ham fan."

Dudley felt like his grin would split his face open. "I'd love to," he said.

"It's a date, then," Mandy grinned. They both blushed at her words. Mandy then gave Dudley a quick peck on the lips and was about to go inside when Dudley put a hand on her shoulder.

"I want to give you something," said Dudley. He unwound Peri the fabulous blue scarf from his neck and put it on Mandy. "This scarf isn't really me. I figured it would look good on you," Dudley explained. "We have the same color eyes, so Peri should match your eyes, too. The way Harry was talking about it, it seemed important for clothes to bring out your eyes."

"Oh, Dudley! It's beautiful! Thank you!" squealed Mandy.

You're beautiful, Dudley wanted to say, but he felt that would be too cheesy. Instead he said, "Cool. See you later," and hurried home to tell Harry the news.


	5. Sassy Gay Outtake: Act I: I am Jack's Sassy Gay Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important! Read this first! This chapter is basically an AU (Alternate Universe) fic of Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend. It explores what would have happened if Harry and Dudley had NOT become friends. Harry is still sassy and gay. Still very funny, of course.

Scene I: The Lament of Roast Beefy O' Weefy

Eight year-old Harry James Potter would never admit to being less than 100% confident and secure in himself. Showing weakness just made it easier for people to bully you. Harry was rather short and slender for his age, despite all of the exercise he got (both to maintain his figure and to outrun his cousin Dudley, whom he liked to call "Roast-Beefy" due to the boy's unhealthy girth) and all the sausages he ate (whether it was grudgingly put in front of him by his horse-faced aunt or stolen from the kitchen). Therefore, he knew that he would be bullied a lot more than he was already if it were not for his rather intimidating front of confidence, bordering on arrogance, which belied his petite frame.

Of course, Harry's refusal to back down often infuriated his bullies further, but they were looking for an excuse to hurt him anyway. It wasn't as though they would all be such great friends if Harry was nice to them. Harry had tried that back when he was young and idealistic. Long story short, it hadn't worked.

Besides, a jumpy boy skirting around corners, afraid of his own shadows, simply wasn't as attractive as the confident, fabulously dressed, perfectly groomed (and had he mentioned fabulously dressed?) young man that he truly was. It was a painful lesson to learn, but niceness did nothing for his image, and image was everything. Primary school teachers automatically blamed the scruffy-haired boy in baggy clothes for disrupting the class, not noticing or not caring when his perfectly-groomed, rosy-cheeked cousin Roast Beefy threw paper wads in class or tripped children up in the hallway.

Despite Harry's aura of poise and self-assurance, he had always known that he was different from other boys. He had always been more fashion-conscious than the likes of Roast-Beefy-Weefs, always fiddling with his clothing to give himself the perfect outfit for every occasion and messing with his hair to make sure it looked just right. 

At first, he had put his preoccupation with his apparel down to only being given old hand-me-downs of Roast Beefy's, so he had to work hard learning to alter the clothes in order to make it look like he was wearing clothing made for humans, rather than bits of old elephant skin. However, he soon found that he enjoyed doing the work for its own sake, so he continued sewing, altering, and Bedazzling even when his wardrobe was full of spectacular outfits.

As for his hair, well he had to do something with it. Otherwise it shot up in a frizzy gravity-defying mess that his aunt would take him to a cheap, low-quality barbershop every fortnight to have hacked off. When this didn't seem to make any difference, she began threatening to take a pair of kitchen scissors to his hair. By then, Harry had lived with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Porkster long enough to know when something was an empty threat and when they meant it. And Aunt Petunia meant it.

Desperately, Harry threw himself headfirst into the arena of hair-care, taking a summer job doing gardening and sewing for neighbors in order to afford the hair products he desperately needed. He had spent a sleepless night trying out possible hair styles and experimenting with the different products. The next morning, Harry stepped out of his cupboard wearing concealer to cover the shadows under his eyes and his hair arranged in sleek waves, held together by enough hairspray to immobilize a buffalo. His aunt grudgingly admitted that he looked "Halfway presentable" before turning to Roast-Beefy, who was coming down the stairs in his pajamas, and cooing that her son looked "Like a baby angel." Harry had simply rolled his eyes but stayed silent, knowing that his jet-black locks were safe.

As with his interest in apparel, Harry soon found his interest in hair-care going beyond what was needed for survival. He spent more time every day on his hair than all of the boys (and most of the girls) in his class put together. Thanks to his research and his access to all the best hair products, his hair looked simply fabulous. 

As stylish as he looked, Harry didn't have close friends the way most of his peers did. The fact that Harry was so different only served to increase Roast Beefy's antipathy towards his cousin. As Harry's fashion sense improved, Roast-Beefy began bullying any children who dared talk to, play with, or even look at Harry without sneering more harshly than ever. Plus, Harry didn't exactly open up to others. Sure, he had good manners drilled into him from early childhood, he could be charming, and a few girls had even approached him for fashion advice, which he gave freely. But he didn't do nice. He did confident, knowledgeable, charming, and sassy, then blended these traits with a superior attitude that would have humbled Simon Cowell.

OK, that incident when the girl had asked whether the sweater she was wearing that day (an ancient wool creation that she had found in her attic. It had belonged to her grandmother, apparently. It was a shade of brown Harry associated with emesis and contained liberal amounts of orange puff-balls) counted as vintage was probably going a little too far. He might have been more tactful. Or at least stopped before she started to cry. But, whatever. He had totally cheered her up afterward. It was lucky he carried several containers of MiO on his person at all times. MiO seemed to make every situation better.

On this particular morning, however, he was not sipping MiO to defuse a volatile, or at least teary-eyed, situation or to make his brain forget the hideous sight of an unfashionable ensemble being worn by his peers. He was merely relaxing as the Dursleys' breakfast (sausages) simmered on the stove. He gazed, fascinated, at the glossy pages of his fashion magazine. That outfit was living proof that pink goes with green! Well, maybe not living proof as the clothing wasn't literally alive. But it was certainly fabulous proof that pink went with green.

He took a deep breath and swallowed another delicious sip of MiO. Nope, he wasn't the least bit nervous. His pulse wasn't beating any more rapidly than it normally did. Okay, maybe he was a little high-strung this morning, but he had a good reason to be.

Years ago, through unrestricted viewing of the television in his cupboard (which his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Saltporker hadn't even known he had) Harry had figured out what made him so different. He liked guys. He was gay. Completely and utterly, without a shadow of a doubt, homosexual. Not one of those bisexual guys who were "really into fashion and stuff." He was Capital-G Gay.

As soon as he figured this out, Harry dove into his research of homosexuality as enthusiastically as he had bounded through his investigation of apparel and hair-care. He ignored the more… revealing findings, as he may have been gay, but he was still a prepubescent boy. However, he did find a wealth of information on gay rights, support systems for gays, and even an interesting take on Tara Gilesbie's "My Immortal," wherein the reader of the badly-written tale manages to come away from the story having learned a valuable lesson about homophobia. However, what caught Harry's attention the most was the plethora of information concerning "Coming out of the closet."

At first, he thought this was some sort of fashion tip that he didn't know about, and so, panicking slightly over his ignorance, he hastened to read more. However, it turned out to be a phrase used to describe a homosexual telling other people, usually friends and family, that they are gay. People who had come out described feeling free, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from their shoulders.

Harry gazed at the images of smiling men dressed in flamboyant outfits that turned him green with envy. Some of them were dancing, some hugging and kissing one another, some marching in parades. These men looked as confident as he always pretended to be, as if they were on top of the world. They were fearless, completely out in the open, and proud to be so. Harry admired their honesty and wished that he could be so brave, so open…

But, wait a minute! He totally could be! He wasn't afraid of his cousin's attempts to hurt him (most of the time, Roast Beefy couldn't even catch him), Uncle Porkstar's blustering, or his aunt's sharp criticisms. He wasn't worried about what anyone in this tiny, boring neighborhood would think of him. He could come out! What's more, he could do it with style!

This led to weeks of planning, hunting for sausage recipes, and making decorations. He had then stayed up all night designing and sewing the perfect outfit for the occasion, then decorating the entire Dursley house as stylishly as he knew how. And what do you know? Pink does go with green.

He had thought it would be difficult to decorate the rooms where his relatives were sleeping, but Cousin Roast Beefy slept like a log (which was surprising, considering the lack of physical activity he got during the day. Then again, when Roast Beefy sat around the house, he really sat around the house. Perhaps that was draining), and Uncle Piggy-Poo's snoring could drown out the noise of a 27-man construction crew.

By the time all of the decorations were up to Harry's high standards of style, the sun was beginning to rise. He hurried to his cupboard to dress in his fabulous coming-out outfit: a clingy black top, tight red trousers, a fetching little black hat, and of course, his sparkly orange scarf, Tangy. Knowing that he would be expected to have the Dursleys' breakfast ready soon, Harry, powered by the adrenaline he always got from fashion and decorating, hurried down to the kitchen to make a large batch of sausages.

It was at this point, when Harry was flipping through his fashion magazine while waiting for the sausages to finish cooking, that his relatives began to wake up. Harry could distinctly make out Aunt Petunia's scream, Uncle Pigfat's bellow of rage, and Cousin Roast Beefy's cry of "I'm hungry!" Clearly, the two adults, at least, had noticed the way he had redecorated.

Uncle Porkflaps stomped down the stairs with Aunt Petunia in tow and Roast Beefy waddling along behind. This was odd, Harry felt. Not the fact that the three had Silly String in their hair- that was to be expected, as Silly String made up a large part of his decorating scheme. The strange part was that the obese Uncle Pork-Rind had made it down the stairs more quickly than his rail-thin wife. Aunt Petunia, at least, got plenty of exercise obsessively cleaning the house, while the most exercise Harry had ever seen Uncle Piggums get was picking up a large forkful of food and chewing it to the point where it could be easily swallowed.

Then again, Uncle Porky's sense of rage seemed to be making him stronger than a normal man, as it always did wherever Harry was concerned. He was like a large, purple Hulk.

"BOY!" Uncle Salt-Porker shouted. "What do you mean by turning our house into an expression of your unique form of style? I'll not hold with attempts to be artistic! You wanna express yourself, don't bother, 'cause nobody wants to hear it! Now where's my breakfast?" He stomped his way into the dining room, as though expecting a home-cooked breakfast to be waiting for him, despite the fact that the sausages were still on the stove.

"And pink does not go with green!" Aunt Petunia added, clutching her salmon-pink bathrobe around her bony body as she followed her husband into the living room.

"I'm still hungry," Cousin Roast-Beefy whined, following his parents at a much slower pace.

Harry went into the kitchen to grab the sausages and arranged them artfully onto a plate, then brought them out into the dining room. It was important to start every day, particularly days when one must make a nerve-wracking confession to one's family, with a complete breakfast. And as far as Harry was concerned, no breakfast could possibly be complete without a plateful of steaming sausages.

"Sausages again?" Uncle Porkstar grunted from behind his morning paper as Harry placed the platter in the middle of the table. Despite his griping, Uncle Porkums grabbed half a dozen of them and stuffed them in his mouth, not bothering to chew thoroughly. Watching Uncle Piggy-Wiggy eat was an education in and of itself. Harry had often admired the way his uncle was able to suppress his gag reflex and slide the large sausages whole down his throat and into his bottomless stomach.

However, he couldn't spend too much time gazing in horrified fascination at Uncle Pig-Pork this morning. He had an announcement to make.

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley?" Harry asked, his brain screaming at him for using the two males' real names rather than one of his many sarcastic monikers. However, this was more important than even ridiculing his moronic relatives. None of the three acknowledged him. They just continued digging into their breakfast.

"I have something important to tell you all."

Seeing as his nephew was not going to shut up and let them all eat in peace, Uncle Giggle-Snort glared at Harry and, bits of sausage flying out of his mouth, said "You better make this quick, boy! We're trying to enjoy our breakfast!" Uncle Porkflaps neglected to mention the fact that it had been Harry who cooked the breakfast that they were attempting to enjoy. Normally, this would have led Harry to make a biting, sarcastic comment that would fly right over the Dursleys' heads. However, he had more important things to focus on.

Seeing no other way to go about this, Harry decided to be direct. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm gay."

Aunt Petunia shrieked in fear and disgust, while Uncle Pork-Lard's gag reflex returned, causing him to spit out the three whole sausages that were still making their way down his throat. Roast-Beefy reached for the pan to help himself to seconds, but, thanks to Uncle Salt-Porker's more-than-healthy appetite, there were no sausages left. "I'm still hungry!" he moaned.

"You're what?" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

"Still hungry!" Roast-Beefy whined, assuming that his mother was talking to him. However, for once in his life, his parents were ignoring him and focusing on Harry.

"I am gay, homosexual. I like boys," Harry clarified. "I felt it prudent to share this information with you since, whether you all like it or not, I'm biologically related to two-thirds of this family, and we'll be stuck with one another until I grow up. That sort of makes us family, and family should know these things about each other... Also, I have gone to public school in Suburbia long enough to see the effects repressed homosexuality has on a person's happiness, and I wanted no part of that decidedly unattractive angst-fest.

"So, I decided to put up some decorations, cook my favorite sausages, and celebrate who I am. Just think, if you accept me now, you'll be saving a fortune on therapy later! Of course, I'll still have self-esteem issues from the way you all have rejected every other aspect of my personality, but we'll worry about that later." Harry beamed with pride at the pure logic of his argument.

Uncle Pork-n-Chips was so upset over his nephew's coming-out that he didn't even notice Harry implying that the Dursleys would be spending money on him, which would normally send him spinning into a screaming, spit-slinging, purple-faced rage. He sputtered incoherently for a few minutes, not even noticing that the sausages had fallen out of his mouth, slid down his shirt, and landed in his lap, leaving a trail of grease stains.

"I want more sausage!" complained Cousin Roast-Beefy.

"Now, see what you've done! You've infected Dudders with your... your abnormality!" shrieked Aunt Petunia.

At the thought of his only son becoming one of them, Uncle Salt-Pork bounced into action like a large purple beach ball, grabbing his nephew by the scruff of his neck and shoving him into his cupboard, not noticing (as usual) the improvements that his nephew had made to it. "You have fifteen minutes to pack your things," Uncle Porkster shouted through the door of Harry's cupboard. "After that, you're never setting foot in this house again!"

Harry knew that this was no empty threat. Uncle Piggums was serious. Quickly as he could, he began gathering his large assortment of bags and stuffed them with any supplies that would fit. He worked quickly, and by the time his fifteen minutes were up, his bags were stuffed more tightly than Uncle Piggily-Wink's cheeks around his sausage breakfast. Harry clutched his bags tightly as Uncle Oinkster angrily shoved him out the front door.

Before the door slammed, Harry heard Roast Beefy moan about the lack of sausages and bitch about how his mummy can't make them like "Homo Potter" could. Harry grinned broadly to himself as he heard Roast Beefy's annoying voice, high-pitched and nasal, reserved for complaining. Thanks to the Dursleys' lack of tolerance for their sausage-loving nephew, Roast Beefy and Uncle Pork-Pie would be deprived of the spicy, salty sausages that they longed to stuff into their limitless mouths.

Harry laughed at the cruel irony of it all. If life is but a stage, then surely this scene in the play of Harry's life would be a tragic comedy, the lament of Roast Beefy O' Weefy. Ha, ha.

Scene II: A Copy of a Copy of a -OMIGOD- Hottie!

Admittedly, things seemed less ironically humorous as morning wore into afternoon, and then into evening. Harry plopped down on a nearby bench, exhausted. His bags now felt as heavy as his Uncle Porcine. However, the large wardrobe, DVD collection, and various fashion and decorating paraphernalia he had been able to pack did not change the fact that he had no place to lay his head. In fact, when he thought of it, the shit he had taken with him (with the exception of the MiO) would not help him survive. They were just things to make himself and his home, if he had one, look pretty. Useless things, all of them, yet things he couldn't bear to live without. There was a lesson here, Harry supposed. Something about traveling light, only packing the essentials. But Harry wasn't about to sit here and learn it. He was going to take what he had and make his new life simply fabulous, just as he had done with the less-than-ideal living conditions at the Dursleys.

It took a good bit of work, but Harry James Potter never broke his promises, not even promises that he made to himself. One month later, Harry had cooked up several fake ID's that said that he was eighteen rather than eight, convincing looking medical documents that claimed that he was an adult midget, a cushy full-time job at a high-class department store, and a small one-bedroom apartment. It was good to have enough food and a place to sleep at night. But, eventually, it got boring. Harry never would have thought that he could be bored of having his own fabulously decorated apartment and being able to eat all the sausages and drink all the MiO that he could possibly want, but something was missing.

He didn't have the fabulous social life that openly gay men on the telly all seemed to have, going from one club to the next the way most people went from Monday to Tuesday. He had even stopped going to school when Uncle Porky-Pickles kicked him out of the house. Harry could only assume that his relatives had made some excuse or another, but he didn't care one way or another, at least at first. He hadn't learned anything of use at school, anyway, always finding himself distracted by the appalling fashion choices made by his peers and the task of dodging bullies. Now, he would even welcome that misery over the monotony that his life had become.

To be honest, Harry felt like he was living in a rut. All he did was get up in the morning, go to work spraying people with samples of perfume and occasionally offering his brutally honest fashion advice to the store's "valued patrons," and then go home and fall asleep in front of his big-screen-TV. When he did manage to stay awake, he found himself splurging on high-priced fashions and home-decor, whether it be from catalogs or from the department store he worked at and received a 15% discount from, which ate away at his tiny paychecks (and they really were tiny once you took out money for food and rent). But, the only joy in his life right now was shopping. The bold, brash styles were the only thing that kept his world from fading into a dismal gray fog.

Still, while fashion may keep him in a state in which he was willing to live, it was a miracle he could survive from one month to the next with the amount he spent. It turned out that being gay was expensive.

Back at Privet Drive, he hardly had any money at all to spend on clothing, accessories, and decorations. However, he had always been able to create miracles, not just making things beautiful, but creating raw beauty out of pure nothingness. Now that he was free of the Dursleys, he was losing his inspiration, his spirit, whatever the power was which helped him make beautiful things out of nothing back when he lived at the Dursleys. He had always thought that finally being free of the Pig family would result in a burst of creativity and imagination. But apparently, the snarking and sarcasm he constantly produced while living with the family Porkums helped to exercise the artistic part of his brain. Now, that part of his mind somehow seemed to have died, and he had no idea how to resurrect it.

This all changed one day when he was at work, spraying wealthy department store patrons with overpriced perfume samples. As he looked up from the plump wrist of a rich old biddy who shopped here nearly every day (possibly because she had nothing else to do with her life), his eyes caught sight of the most handsome man he had ever seen. He was tall and muscular with spiky blond hair. Along with a killer smile, the blond man was wearing a red leather jacket over a skin-tight top with motorcycles printed all over it and tight black jeans. He was holding a briefcase, which Harry supposed made him a businessman of some sort, but judging by the man's eye-catching outfit- and Harry always judged people on how amazing their outfits were- he was clearly more interesting than the average businessman.

The mystery man was accompanied by a less imposing, skinnier brunette man, who wasn't saying anything, letting the blond man do the talking. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the blond man smoothly convinced the store to buy a large quantity of what turned out to be soap. Harry edged closer to get a good look (at the new merchandise, of course). Judging by the way the saleslady was going on about how it was "The best soap ever," Harry expected it to be all fancy and feminine. However, when he peered into the box, he saw only plain, ordinary bars of soap. Obviously, the manager who was responsible for purchasing the soap, Delia, was doing a little flirting on company time. Oh, that Delia was such a big slut! Good for her!

So Harry purchased one of the bars of soap that the cute salesman (whose name, he had learned, was Tyler Durden) bought in. So sue him! He's a stupid bitch (in a sassy way, not in a low self-esteem way)! What did you expect? Oh, yeah, he found out that Tyler makes the soap, too. Like with his own hands. His own tanned, callused, strong, manly hands. Mmmmmm...

Of course, Harry didn't feel anything other than a passing interest for the fascinating, enigmatic Tyler Durden. As has previously been mentioned, Harry had found himself living in a rut. So, he may or may not have done some low-grade stalking to learn more about the guy- but only because he was curious, honestly!

Scene III: World's Hottest Cult Leader

After work, Harry just so happened, with no forethought or planning, to take the same bus home as Tyler and his friend were riding. He didn't pretend to be sick in order to leave work early and surreptitiously follow the two men out of the store, all the while making up his own spy theme music in the musical theatre of his mind. Of course he didn't? Whatever gave you the idea that he did that?

He sat down, unnoticed, in the seat behind them and immediately became lost in Tyler's golden blond hair. Ooohh... shiny. Harry could just hear, through a haze of infatuation and shininess and rainbows, his idol speaking to the brunette man who was sitting next to him.

"Is that how a man should look?" Tyler asked, nodding at an advertisement of a male model dressed only in his tighty-whiteys. The man was blond and muscular, looking like Harry imagined Tyler would look in his underwear. No, that wasn't true. Tyler Durden is definitely a boxers man.

"Hell to the yeah!" Harry exclaimed, before he could stop himself.

Both men, along with half of the other passengers on the bus, turned around to stare at Harry. Harry gave them a friendly wave, and they all turned back around.

Eventually, the bus stopped, and the two men got off at a trashy-looking bar called Lou's Tavern. The place was poorly lit and falling apart, with crowds of disreputable-looking people milling around, doing nothing in particular. The place had bad-guy bar written all over it. Only the air of mischief, mayhem, and general evil-ness it gave off made up for the blatant unstylish-ness of their chosen venue.

Almost as if he had his own sassy gay friend living in his head and helping him stalk a hottie, Harry knew instinctively to not arouse (ha!) suspicion by getting off at the same stop as Tyler and his friend. Instead, he made a note of their destination and got off at the next stop, then walked over to Lou's Tavern.

The main room of the bar was almost completely empty, but Harry could hear noises coming from the bar's basement. Without hesitation, Harry made his way down the stairs and into the dark and gloomy basement.

The room was sweltering and musky from the crowd of men all packed together like sardines, generating enough body heat to melt what remained of Antartica's polar ice caps. And that was with all the grown men with varying degrees of attractiveness were standing still.

Things were made hotter by the display in the middle of the crowd, which was now the object of everyone's attention.

Two men, one of whom, Harry noticed, was Tyler, were rolling around shirtless and barefoot in the dirt, fighting. The crowd, clearly as caught up in the hotness of the scene as Harry was, cheered loudly.

Eventually, Tyler won the fight, and he good-naturedly helped his fallen opponent to his feet, grinning at the crowd's thunderous approval. Harry cheered longer and louder than everyone else, enamored with the intriguing man. When everyone else's applause died down, Harry's loud whoops started to draw everyone's attention. Harry suddenly found himself the main focus of a group of sweaty, muscular men, many of whom were shirtless. He beamed.

However, his glee didn't last long, because the men quickly recognized the unfamiliar person as a new member. "If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight!" several men chorused as one.

Harry's eyes widened. Surprisingly, nobody seemed to notice his height (4-foot-2) or his rather delicate, childlike features. Not that he would ever admit to being younger than 18; he would simply pull out his fake ID card and explain his "unfortunate medical condition."

Still, it was odd that nobody seemed to give his youth a second thought.

"No shirts, no shoes in a fight!" roared the crowd.

"Easy! Buy a girl a drink first!" Harry said sassily, winking at the crowd as he opened his button-down shirt and carefully laid it on the cleanest part of the ground. He kept his orange scarf on, though. No force on Earth was strong enough to take Tangy away from him. He then kicked off his shoes and marched to the middle of the ring. Tyler's friend, the brunette man, now shirtless and shoeless, faced him ready for a fight.

"I am Jack's galling gallbladder," Harry heard Jack mutter to himself.

OK, so apparently the man's name was Jack. And he was a psycho.

"I store bile that is secreted by the liver. In turn, this bile helps digest fat," Jack said under his breath.

Okay. So he was knowledgeable and crazy.

Suddenly, Jack hauled off and punched Harry in the face. Well, the man was crazy. The approving shouts from the crowd reminded Harry that they were supposed to be fighting. Duh! "I'm a stupid bitch!" he said, slapping his forehead in realization. Well, he didn't escape from the Dursleys only to be bullied by another psycho.

He pulled back his fist and punched the man in the stomach with all his might. Logically, the grown man should have been able to block the punch being thrown at him by the small, prepubescent boy. Jack should have easily been able to win this fight with one shove, two shoves, if he was pacing himself.

There was no logical explanation for what actually happened: Harry punched the man in the stomach, and, at the same time, he felt a strange kind of tingling in his fist. It didn't hurt, exactly. On the contrary, it was almost like a warm fuzzy feeling, like when people talk about babies and kittens and Hallmark Christmas films giving them a "warm, fuzzy feeling inside." Only instead of the warm fuzzy feeling being in his heart or soul or wherever, this particular warm, fuzzy feeling was in his fist.

So, he punched Jack with his other fist. There seemed to be an unreasonable amount of power behind Harry's punches, causing Jack to double over on the ground. Harry kept punching, while laughing like a maniac. This fighting stuff was fun! And, it released tension even better than a good glass of MiO. Wait, no it didn't. And it was blasphemous to say so. Still, there was no doubt that beating the shit out of somebody else was enjoyable.

The best part about all this was that beating the shit out of his best friend gave Harry an excuse to talk to Tyler Durden. They spent an enjoyable few minutes talking about the men they would fight if they could fight anyone and commenting on the physiques of the shirtless men that surrounded them. Harry barely resisted the urge to jump up and down and cheer. This man so played for his team it wasn't even funny. While they talked, Jack used his shirt to mop up the various wounds Harry had managed to inflict on him. At first, he seemed too badly hurt to talk, but he was apparently feeling better, since he turned to Harry and asked "Who are you?" rather rudely.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself with a dazzling smile, whilst twirling a dark lock of hair around a delicate finger. "I know who you are," he added, gesturing towards the blond man. "You're Tyler Durden. You're the guy who sold that soap to the store where I work."

"What store is this?" Tyler asked.

"Migliogne's Department Store."

"That place always sounds more like an Italian restaurant than a store," said Tyler. "I always picture people coming in, ready to stuff their faces with overpriced food, but then they realize it's a clothing store. So, they stay and try to squeeze their pudgy frames into size zero cocktail dresses and tiny bikinis."

"That would explain a lot of the customers we've had," Harry admitted. "Honestly, you're lucky you don't have to deal with them day in and day out. You get to sell some soap and get out of there."

"You know what the best part of that is?" Tyler asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "All those women go out and get liposuction when they see how crappy they look in the skimpy outfits. Their fat gets dumped at the medical waste plant. Then, we take the fat and use it to make soap. We then sell it to that store for an exorbitant amount. It's awesome. We're selling rich women their own fat asses back to them."

"That's a completely ridiculous story, yet, considering the moronic management we have at that place, I'm inclined to believe it," said Harry.

"I own that store," Tyler pointed out.

Damn it, Harry finally met a handsome guy he could talk to, and he had to go and blow it! "I didn't mean you..." he started, while blushing.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm not at that store a lot. And I hired the stupid managers on purpose."

"On purpose?" asked Harry, confused.

"Of course," Tyler replied. "Those types of managers won't look too closely if, for example, the owner took a bunch of money from the company for what he says is to purchase quality soap for the store, despite the fact that he can produce it without spending a pound. Another bonus of personally hiring a bunch of idiots to look after your store is that all you need is an extra name, and they'll never realize that the store owner is technically the same person as the soap salesman."

"I definitely got the sense that somebody somewhere was hiring the biggest idiots he could find to be my boss," said Harry. Then his face clenched with anger. "You bastard!" he screamed, lunging at Tyler.

Tyler laughed as another fight began, this time between himself and Harry. Harry fought Tyler the same way he fought Jack. At first, the mysterious power seemed to be releasing itself on Tyler, holding the man back. After a while, though, Tyler started to gain resistance to this power. However, Harry was not about to give up so easily. He was still in fabulous shape, strange power or no.

It took ten minutes after Tyler had developed resistance to Harry's powers to win the fight. The turning point was definitely Tyler managing to get a grip on Tangy and using the scarf to choke Harry. Harry scowled. He didn't care what happened to him, but Tangy would kill him before he let that sparkly orange scarf leave his body without his permission. If Tyler ripped Tangy, he was going to get kicked repeatedly in the sausage factory, and nobody was going to stop him.

However, Tangy miraculously remained safe through the whole ordeal, and, as a sidenote, Harry didn't choke to death. He was pushed to the ground repeatedly, until finally, the stubborn boy was too sore and exhausted to move. Tyler helped Harry to his feet and grinned at the young boy. They were both still panting and nursing wounds they had gotten in the fight. Harry unwrapped Tangy from his neck and used it to gently dab a cut on Tyler's cheek, all animosity forgotten. When he pulled Tangy away, the deep gash was gone. Frowning in confusion, Harry touched his scarf to a gaping wound on Tyler's arm. It took only a few seconds for that wound to disappear.

Harry's eyes widened and he brought his hand to his mouth. Was Tangy magical? He always knew that scarf was even more fabulous than it appeared. But then, this action caused the tooth that he had lost in the fight to grow back.

It was at this point that he had an epiphany. "Oh my God," he said out loud. "I'm a fairy!"

"You don't belong at Migliogne's," Tyler said, who was apparently thinking of something else while Harry had his revelation. "I'm promoting you. You'll still get paid by that company, but you'll never have to set foot in that store again if you don't want to."

"Promoting me to what?" Harry asked.

"Head of Supplier Relations," Tyler responded smoothly.

Harry thought this over. He did like the idea of getting head. He never had before, of course, but TV made it sound like fun. Will that be what was being supplied? Yummy! And, he knew relations were just a fancy word for sex. He wanted to be mature about this, so he resisted the urge to do a happy dance. But, damn it, it was difficult. Harry James Potter was about to get laid!

"Head out of the gutter, Lamb-Chop," Tyler said, as if he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. "It means that you'll be helping me get the supplies for and make the soap."

"Sounds good to me!" the newly-christened Lamb-Chop said. He didn't care that he'd apparently been what people on the telly called "Cock-blocked." His idol had given him a nickname!

Apparently the promotion required membership in Project Mayhem, which required what Lamb-Chop was doing now. Standing on Tyler's front porch and getting yelled at. Apparently, he had to stay on that porch for three days before being inducted into Project Mayhem and becoming what is called a Space Monkey.

Sometimes, Tyler came out to yell at him to get off the porch, which Lamb-Chop guessed was an attempt at reverse psychology. Sometimes Jack came to yell at him, which caused Lamb-Chop to roll his eyes. And sometimes, they sent the Space Monkeys out to yell at him.

At first, Lamb-Chop was nice about it, offering them MiO in order to soothe the feelings of insecurities that caused them to be so harsh on the people who they had been only three days earlier. This was the first situation Lamb-Chop had ever been in that MiO hadn't smoothed over. Instead of looking at their lives, looking at their choices, and enjoying a delicious water beverage made to their personal taste, the Space Monkey simply hurled the bottle of MiO into the street. Bastard. He knew that if Lamb-Chop went after the MiO, he would have to leave his spot on the porch, thereby disqualifying him from Project Mayhem. Lamb-Chop simply scowled as the Space Monkey went back inside, slamming the door behind him. OK, so apparently, he was supposed to stay here for three days without food, shelter, or encouragement. Lamb-Chop swore that when he got into Project Mayhem, he was going to make some changes. 

His frown turned upside down as he noticed that there was no Tyler, Jack, or Space Monkeys in sight. He slipped a spare bottle of MiO out of his pocket. Did that idiot really think anyone would leave their house with only one container of MiO? Sure there were 24 servings in each bottle, but anyone with any common sense carried a replacement in case a disaster such as this occurred.

Lamb-Chop noticed a new recruit standing on the porch beside him. He was tall and slim with perfectly-styled platinum blond hair and a handsome face. Gay, Lamb-Chop thought immediately. But totally not my type.

He offered the newbie some of his MiO anyway. The new guy smiled and accepted some of Harry's Strawberry-Watermelon flavored MiO before pulling out his own container of Berry-Pomegranate MiO and offering some to Lamb-Chop. The two of them were enjoying themselves, talking about their lives before Fight Club and the desperation to become part of Project Mayhem took hold of them and mixing the two flavors together in the same bottle of water.

They were having such a great time that neither of them heard the door open and Tyler come out until it was too to slip the MiO back in their duffel bags or stuff it in the bushes. They were in for it now. Or at least, Lamb-Chop thought they were. One moment, he was guiltily holding the MiO and the water bottle in his hand; the next moment, it disappeared into thin air with Tyler none the wiser.

Tyler made his usual insults before going out somewhere. Lamb-Chop noticed that Tyler called the blond boy "Angel-Face." Despite the fact that Tyler was insulting the both of them, trying to kick them off his porch, and in general being a bad host, Lamb-Chop could see Angel smile at the nickname. Lamb-Chop could practically see little cartoon hearts appear in Angel's blue-gray eyes as he watched Tyler walk down the street.

Normally this would bother Lamb-Chop, but he had found that, while still respecting Tyler as a strong leader, he had found himself less and less in love with Tyler as the hours on the porch went by and he came out periodically to be a dick. Plus, from what Angel described of past relationships, men were clearly looking for something more physical than a fight if you got his drift. Lamb-Chop promised himself that if Angel-Face's love for Tyler survived his three days on the porch, he would do all he could to help Angel woo the leader of Project Mayhem.

Lamb-Chop noticed that Angel gazed lovingly at both Jack and Tyler whenever either of them came out onto the porch to yell at them. He began to worry that this may not be a perfectly natural crush on Tyler but instead be a pathogical attraction to guys who act like jerks. Lamb-Chop was about to call him out on this and go into Sassy Gay Friend mode when he noticed that all the Space Monkeys treated Jack as if he were Tyler.

They were not simply putting the two leaders on the same level authority-wise. They literally expected Jack to know things that only Tyler had seen and vice versa. Tyler still somehow managed to know about everything Jack had seen, but Jack didn't know everything Tyler had seen or remember everything Tyler had said. This caused the brunette man to grow frustrated when the Monkeys brought it up as if he had been there. Clearly, he was not there. Tyler was there. Usually, Jack was sitting around, reading a stack of those Reader's Digest magazines he was so addicted to.

Why the Hell would anyone confuse Tyler with Jack. They were complete opposites. Yin and Yang. Alter-egos.

The answer hit Lamb-Chop like a ton of bricks. "Holy shit," he breathed, realization dawning. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and, in a move he had been practicing for the last few hours, summoned a container of MiO and bottle of water from out of nowhere and shared his treasure with Angel.

"What's wrong?" Angel asked, seeing Lamb-Chop's shocked, slightly scared expression.

"Nothing," Lamb-Chop lied smoothly. It was clear that no good would come from blabbing this secret to everybody. He had to keep it to himself. If word got out, it could mean the end of Project Mayhem when the Monkeys saw what kind of man was leading them. Or perhaps it wouldn't. The Space Monkeys were so dedicated to the cause that they probably wouldn't care.

Still, it severely lessened the odds of Tyler and Angelface hooking up, and they needed a bit of romance around here. Romance as in romantic comedy, not like The Notebook. 

His mind made up, Harry kept his mouth shut on the subject of the secret and instead engaged Angel in a lighthearted chat about the shiny red sports car Tyler had stolen the other day and about how the original owner was clearly compensating for something.

Scene IV: I am Jack's Journal

Jack's Journal (Not a diary!)

Date: No idea

We have a new kid in Fight Club and Project Mayhem. Tyler and the Monkeys call him Lamb Chop. Don't ask me why. I call him Brat, because that's what he is.

Brat's about eight years old with perfectly-styled black hair (which he got to keep), big green eyes, and a small lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Although he's small, he seems to have some sort of power over people, which probably helps explain why he's such a brat. In a fight, bigger, stronger men mysteriously fall over without him having to hit very hard. I tried fighting the kid, and I've been hit with this as well. In fact, the only one who seems to be resistant to it is Tyler. I've asked Tyler how the Hell he can fight against that. The Monkeys all want to know, too, but he won't tell anybody. Bastard.

Of course, this just makes the Monkeys admire him even more. The general consensus among Project Mayhem is that Tyler is keeping his secret in order to maintain the loyalty, obedience, and respect that he is due from his Monkeys. (Yes, his Monkeys. This isn't just some little gang that Tyler formed; not just some army to fight against the forces of corporate bullshit. Every single Space Monkey belongs to Tyler Durden. What was it he always said? "This isn't love as in caring; this is property as in ownership." The Monkeys are all Tyler's property, and proudly so).

Having your ass handed to you by a little kid every evening is a humbling experience. Defeat at the hands of this small boy was by now seen as inevitable among the Monkeys. Yet nearly every night, they saw the legendary Tyler Durden achieve victory over this strange, irresistible force. "He wants us to see that we are not all-powerful," the Monkeys said. "To show us that he is strong in all the ways we are not." Tyler laughed when he heard about this. The Monkeys do have a habit of turning Tyler's every word or action into some sort of Scripture.

Still doesn't stop him from being a bastard.

Anyway, back to the kid. Despite the fact that he is annoyingly fashion-conscious and materialistic, all the Monkeys see him as a young Tyler Durden, a reincarnation of chaos, rebellion, and anarchy. Sure, he ran away from home, but that doesn't make him rebellious. He didn't exactly run away either. From what I understand, he got kicked out because his family couldn't stand the idea of living with a little fairy. Sure, it's sad that his relatives couldn't be more accepting of the kid's special unique special-ness, but you couldn't really equate that with what Tyler has done.

One evening, while Tyler was off leading a mysterious mission for Project Mayhem (which resulted in the corporate office of some car company or other burning down), the kid was remodeling our kitchen. Seriously. He remodeled our kitchen. We were only gone for an hour, but during that time, he somehow managed to remodel our crappy-looking kitchen so it looks like a page out of a Good Housekeeping magazine. Let's see, mischief, mayhem, misinformation, arson, assault, brand new kitchen tiles; one of these things is not like the other.

I expected Tyler to kill the kid, or at least beat the shit out of him while lecturing him about "Rejecting the basic assumptions of society, especially the importance of material possessions." But he just laughed and ruffled the kid's hair, the same way he did when the kid won his first fight. His first fight against me. Bastard.

If Tyler ever finds this journal, I'm going to kill both him and the brat. Slowly and painfully. The brat first because he's the one who gave me this diary (I mean journal) in the first place, saying that writing down my emotions would help me deal with them. I told him Fight Club helps me deal with my emotions and also to mind his own damn business. Yeah, I swore at an eight year-old. So sue me. The kid just shook his head knowingly and said in an annoyingly condescending voice, "Oh, you stupid bitch. I meant your other emotions, the ones that don't involve beating the shit out of people."

Frankly, the brat is completely nuts. I don't have feelings for anything other than Fight Club. Everything else is just a copy of a copy of a copy. Also, fighting is the ultimate therapy, so there's no need to scribble down random thoughts in a notebook. Then, why the Hell am I still writing? I guess it's better than sitting at home in the middle of the afternoon listening to Tyler and Slut of the Week humping as I try to read my Reader's Digest… where the Hell are my Reader's Digests, anyway? There used to be a pile of them right there in the corner, but they were replaced by some of Brat's endless supply of fashion and interior decorating magazines.

I swear if Brat tells Tyler about this diary, no journal, I'm murdering him and then disposing of his remains in a vat of green Jello and feeding said Jello to the morbidly obese cousin Roast Beefy Weefs whom I heard him mention one day. Then, I'd kill Tyler because there's no way I'd let Mr. Brad Pitt Ideal Man hang the knowledge that I'm writing in a diary (he'd totally call it a diary, too, not a journal, even though that's what it is) over my head.

Except, wait a minute! Tyler actually listens to that midget fashion designer. Maybe he's also convinced Tyler to keep a diary… I mean journal. If he could convince Tyler to change the carpeting in this house and put some paint on the walls, he could probably convince anyone to do anything. I mean, look at me. Here I am still writing in a journal obviously designed for seven year-old girls, if the fact that it is pink and heart-shaped is any indication.

I am Jack's burning curiosity. Must search Tyler's room for a pink heart-shaped diary like mine. Except mine's obviously a journal, not a diary. I even crossed out where it says "Diary" on the front cover in loopy purple letters and scribbled "I am Jack's Journal" in ballpoint pen. See? Obviously a journal.

The Next Morning

I am Jack's psychological trauma.

Stayed home from Fight Club yesterday evening in order to commence The Search. Hung around and waited until I heard Tyler and Mystery Slut leave the house, then slipped into Tyler's room ninja-style, in a matter which does not in any way resemble a nosy little sister poking around her elder sibling's room. Despite Brat's ability to redesign the kitchen, living room, and his own room beyond all recognition,Tyler's room still looks as crappy as ever. The place still smells like sex. Surprisingly, it doesn't smell like smoke, so Slut of the Week isn't Marla Singer. Not that I care either way.

I dug around under Tyler's bed searching for something resembling a journal, but find only piles of dirty laundry. Have probably caught a fatal, as-yet-undiscovered disease just by rifling through the heap. Considered forming a support group for sufferers of this disease, but realized that I would be the only one in it. I would have to cry on my own shoulder.

I then considered spreading this laundry around the world so that more people would come into contact with it, thereby catching whatever disease this is. I could probably fill dozens of support groups with the people I infect. As an added bonus, since I discovered the disease, I would get to name it. I would name it "Marla." No, wait, if I had a tumor I would name it "Marla." If I had a newly-discovered skin disease that rapidly spread itself among the population like fight clubs across entire cities worth of disenchanted citizens, I would name it "Tyler." It totally fits. Plus, it came from his laundry, so he should get some credit.

Got excited when I realized that all these disenchanted, diseased people would be streaming into our fight clubs for their therapy. I won't get to cry on anybody's shoulder, but still- yay! Some more people to beat up!

I was in Tyler's room for hours, sifting through all the crap and looking for a diary. Checked his dresser, his bedside table, and closet without finding anything of interest (except for a few sex toys that I'd rather not think about). As I was sifting through his closet, though, I heard the sound of Tyler and that pretty blond boy from Fight Club heading towards Tyler's room. Damn it, if I try to go out the door now, Tyler will know I've been in there.

So, without a second thought, I leapt into the closet and closed the door behind me. Or at least, I tried to. I managed to hide myself in the closet before Tyler and Blondie entered the room, but I couldn't swing the door closed in time. It was still open a crack when Tyler and the annoying blonde he had christened "Angel Face" came into the room. Stupidly, I wondered why the Hell Tyler had invited Angelface into his room. Were they having a slumber party? He never invites me to his room…

Oh… that's why. Luckily, the pen that came with the JOURNAL that Brat brought me lights up, so I can see well enough to write. At least I have something to distract myself with as the… slumber party goes on outside the closet.

I would like to reiterate that I am Jack's psychological trauma. No part of me even remotely resembles Jack's raging libido, Jack's increasing erection, or Jack's secret sexual desire. I am Jack's psychological trauma.

But, damn, Tyler is big. Probably a good kisser, too. Why shouldn't he be? He's good at everything else. He's like a physical manifestation of everything a man should be, so confident, rebellious, sex on legs.

OK, maybe Baby Jack's SLIGHTLY bigger and harder than usual. But ONLY because it's been a while since I got laid. Now, I'm just going to sit here and NOT think about Tyler. I'll just take a few deep, calming breaths and think about something OTHER than Tyler Durden. I'll think about writing a sentence WITHOUT writing a word in all caps. Tyler is hot. THERE, I did it! A sentence with ABSOLUTELY NO WORDS IN ALL CAPS.

Aww… what the Hell. Nobody's going to read this diary, I mean journal, as I will guard it with my life. I will therefore take this opportunity to confess that I am Jack's epic horniness, the lust that makes you launch a thousand ships. I want to be in Tyler's bed underneath that Brad Pitt look-alike while he… Oh, God… while he does that.

Voyeurism is the only way to spend a Saturday night that's more pathetic than looking at Internet porn, but I can't tear my eyes away from the sight on Tyler's bed. So that's what that toy does! I've always wondered.

I stayed cramped in the closet late into the night, a captive (and aroused) audience until Tyler and Slut #5,847 fell asleep in each others' arms. Strange. I had Tyler pegged as the guy who would kick his fun-buddies out of the room after he finished. Not that I've given any thought to this or imagined possible scenarios or anything like that.

As soon as I was certain that they were both sound asleep, I eased the closet door open and got the Hell out of there. OK, I looked back for a second, but only to make sure that I didn't wake up either of the blondes. Nope, they were both sound asleep. Angelface lay curled up on top of Tyler, his head against Tyler's broad chest. Even in sleep, Tyler cradled Angelface in his arms, protecting him, claiming him.

I am Jack's raging jealousy.

Scene V: I am Jack's Sassy Gay Friend

Meet Jack's broken heart, raging jealousy, etc. Jealousy of a roommate scorned will lead him to beat the tarter sauce out of a certain Angel-Faced blond boy. This action will cause the permanent disfigurement of Angelface and set in motion a chain of events leading up to an epic showdown between Jack and Tyler. This fate could have been avoided if Jack had a sassy gay friend. Or possibly not.

Jack felt like breaking open all the vats of the world's precious supply of oil and smothering all the French beaches he would never see. He felt like putting a bullet between the eyes of every panda that wouldn't screw to save its species.

The anger made him strong. He was pushing Angelface back, blocking all of the blonde's blows before the younger man could build up any real force behind his attacks. This resulted in loud cheers from the crowd.

Jack swiftly kicked the younger man in the shins, causing the blond to stumble. Jack took advantage of this to dart forward into Angel's territory and increase the speed and intensity of his punches. Angel was lying on the ground, most definitely tapped out, but Jack showed no signs of stopping his attack. He kept punching and punching the pretty face. The angelic face began to swell and bleed and bruise, turning into raw hamburger. The crowd stopped cheering and became completely silent. You could have heard a pin drop.

Or at least, you could have heard a pin drop until a loud voice shrieked "What are you doing? What, what, WHAT are you doing?" The crowd parted like the Red Sea, and a small boy wearing only a neon orange sparkly scarf and tight black jeans strode forward.

In spite of himself, Jack paused in the act of beating up Angelface. "I'm destroying something beautiful," the man replied.

"Well, we can all see that," Lamb-Chop replied sassily. "That question was rhetorical!"

"I thought you couldn't ask questions in Project Mayhem," Jack pointed out.

"The whole point behind asking questions is to gather information. Tyler said that we cannot ask questions because he feels it's better that we don't have to worry about a lot of information that would just get in the way of doing our jobs. What would be the point in forbidding us from asking rhetorical questions when we are clearly not using them in an attempt to gather information that we do not need to know? No need to respond!" he added quickly as Jack opened his mouth. "That was rhetorical!"

"Did you have a specific reason for talking to me in the middle of a fight?" Jack asked, nettled.

Lamb-Chop didn't answer. "Well?" Jack asked, growing more irritated by the second.

"Oh! Sorry! I thought that question was rhetorical as well. The answer is…"

"The first rule of Project Mayhem is that you do not ask questions!" the crowd recited as one.

"We know, we know," said Lamb Chop, speaking to the crowd. "Just give the guy a break. He has a broken heart, or thinks he does anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asked.

"You broke your own heart," Lamb-Chop answered cryptically. "You have no-one to blame but yourself for Jack's raging jealousy or Jack's sense of rejection or whatever the Hell you're imagining."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Jack protested. "How can you break your own heart?"

"Well, most people can't," Lamb-Chop admitted. "But thanks to your special unique snowflake-ness, you managed to find a way."

"What do you mean 'My unique snowflake-ness?'" asked Jack. "We are not special. We are not a unique snowflake. We are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else."

"Of course," Lamb-Chop said sarcastically. "That's really what our multi-billion dollar fashion industry (which by the way, helps fund Fight Club and Project Mayhem through our soap and our new fashion line) is all about."

"What new fashion line?" Jack asked puzzled.

"Oh, right. You don't know," Lamb-Chop suddenly remembered. He shook his head in self-deprecation. "I'm such a stupid bitch!"

"I've had enough," Jack said, storming off upstairs.

Lamb-Chop hurried after him, not because he had any sort of affection for this particular side of Tyler Durden's psyche, but because he was the only one (besides Tyler) who understood what was going on here. He felt obligated to help out, if only to maintain his perfect record as the incredibly helpful sassy gay friend, a record that had gone undisputed since his induction into Fight Club and Project Mayhem.

Jack was in his room, sitting on his bed and staring at the peeling wallpaper.

"You should really let me redecorate this room, you know," Lamb-Chop said. "This place looks like a dungeon! I always expect to see some greasy-haired man dressed all in black brewing potions."

Lamb-Chop's voice startled Jack, but he refused to show it.

"I never exactly invited you up here," Jack said pointedly.

"I know," said the boy known as Brat to Jack and Lamb-Chop to everyone else said, shrugging. "But interior decorating knows no boundaries. I would go through a war zone, through the fires of Hell, through Manhattan at rush hour in order to turn a drab environment into a place of beauty."

"That's great!" Jack replied. "I think there's an ugly old shack somewhere in the States. Why don't you go cross the Atlantic Ocean without a boat and get to it?"

"Ha!" Lamb-Chop said sarcastically. "That's so funny I forgot to laugh... excluding that first ha. Seriously, you truly are a stupid bitch."

"Yes, because I spend all of my time mooning over hot guys and obsessing over their hot, sweaty man-flesh as they tumble around on the ground."

"Well, I wouldn't say all of your time- just most of your time," said Lamb-Chop, apparently oblivious to sarcasm. "And really, you only obsess over one hot, sweaty, muscular dude. I think we both know who I'm talking about."

"I don't obsess over-"

Their conversation/argument was interrupted as Tyler stormed in. "Where'd you go, psycho boy?" he asked.

"Just up to my room," Jack replied, while not-so-subtly looking Tyler up and down. The odd thing about the relationship between the two alter-egos, Lamb-Chop mused, was that Jack could have been assessing Tyler's strength and readying himself for a fight or checking him out or doing both at the same time. Anyone could see that they were better off as friends.

Despite Harry's promise to himself to help Angelface woo Tyler if Angel's crush lasted past the three days on the porch, he had no opportunity to play matchmaker. The two of them had almost immediately fallen in love and into bed. Tyler clearly loved and cherished Angelface the way a hunky man like Tyler should cherish a cutie like Angel. Lamb-Chop's feeble crush on Tyler had evaporated instantly in the face of such obvious love between the two. Tyler and Angel were meant to be together; any fool could see that. Jack only loved Tyler because Jack was a narcissist, and Tyler was already a part of him- that had to be like some weird sort of masturbation or incest or something.

Tyler merely glared until Jack reluctantly admitted, "I felt like destroying something beautiful."

"You said that already," Lamb-Chop pointed out.

"Could you please give us some privacy?" Jack seethed at Lamb-Chop, making his question sound less like a request and more like a threat.

"Why? So you can kill each other? Hell to the no!" said Lamb-Chop stubbornly. "I know what'll happen if one of you kills the other."

"I don't want to kill Tyler!" Jack protested. "But I do want to be told certain things. I mean, a Fight Club fashion line? Really?"

"That was my idea!" Lamb-Chop stated proudly.

"No shit," Jack said under his breath.

"They're a line of specially designed pants for men who want to go shirtless. They not only flatter your lower body by accentuating what you want to show and camouflaging what you don't, but they also manage to flatter your upper body, somehow creating the illusion of a strong chest and chiseled abdomen even on the most out-of-shape man. Tyler was reluctant at first, but we discussed how an intimidating physique could help cow your opponent before the fight even begins. For a Neo-Luddite, it didn't take him very long to agree. Now, these pants are sold everywhere and can be purchased in any color, as long as it's black. I couldn't get him to budge on the color issue."

"It's gotta be black," Tyler confirmed.

"This isn't happening," Jack moaned, covering his eyes with his hands. Tyler was drifting further and further away from him, thanks to that little blond slut, and now Fight Club was turning into some sort of fashion show.

"Look," Tyler said, "You decide your own level of involvement in Fight Club and Project Mayhem. It's as simple as that."

"I thought we were in this together!" Jack exclaimed angrily. "We started Fight Club together, remember?"

"We've grown beyond Fight Club," Tyler pointed out. "You need to grow with it."

"I'm trying, Tyler. But it's hard when all the Monkeys are talking about their missions like they expect me to know everything, like they expect me to be you or something."

Tyler's hand drifted towards his pants pocket, where both Lamb-Chop and Jack knew he kept his gun, and opened his mouth as though about to say something he had been keeping secret for a long time.

"Don't say it," Lamb-Chop warned him. "Nothing good's gonna come from you saying it."

"Saying what?" Jack asked, puzzled.

"You know," Tyler replied.

"No he doesn't. No he does not," Lamb-Chop insisted. "Just drop it. I know honesty's important in relationships, but sparkles are important in a good outfit. Doesn't mean we hire the Volturi to assassinate Edward Cullen so we can wear his sparkly skin in the sunlight. There's such a thing as going too far, you know."

"Too far even for sparkles?" Jack asked sarcastically. "I can't believe this is coming from the boy who tried to burn down Macy's when one of the sequins came off his new coat, and the staff wouldn't let him return it because his receipt was made unreadable since he used black eyeliner to draw plans for a new bathroom on it."

"That was a long time ago!" Lamb-Chop protested, against Jack's cough, which sounded suspiciously like "Last week!" "I'll admit, while my little infatuation with Tyler was gone by this point, my chronically single state made me a little testy... but got over it. And, for your information, I ended up building that bathroom to replace the crappy one that Tyler used to have attached to his room. Angel, at least, appreciates the change. He said 'thank you,'" Lamb-chop added pointedly.

"Well, it was surprising to go to bed with my bathroom normal, then wake up to find it five times the size that it was and decorated like you expect me to entertain foreign dignitaries while I'm taking a dump," explained Tyler. "Then, once I got used to the palatial bathroom, I lifted the toilet seat which was down for some reason..."

"A gentleman always leaves the seat down!" Lamb-Chop interrupted.

"And found the dead jellyfishes of a dozen condoms floating in the water," Tyler continued. "I mean, seriously, you remodeled the whole bathroom, but couldn't remember to get rid of the old condoms? What was that, a fashion statement?"

"No, that would be so sixties, while your bathroom was decorated with a more Medieval flair. I simply felt that I'm your sassy gay friend, your Space Monkey, your fashion designer, and your makeover guru, but NOT your maid. Clean up after yourself, dammit!"

"I didn't mean it like that; I like the new bathroom. Angel's never agreed to shower sex before you redecorated."

"You're welcome!" Lamb-Chop chirped, back to his old perky self.

"Still, seeing as how the night you were unexpectedly re-doing my bathroom was the first night Angel let me try the kinky stuff on him, I feel compelled to ask: did you hear anything?" Tyler asked.

"The wall scones were probably a bit much," said Jack, trying to take his mind off of the unpleasant (and strangely arousing) image.

"Oh, what do you know?" Lamb-Chop asked rhetorically. "You're just jealous!"

"Am not!"

"Are too! You literally just called yourself 'Jack's raging jealousy' in your introduction!"

"All of this is completely beside the point," said Jack. "Isn't the whole point of Fight Club to take one's anger over circumstances one can't control out on others? That's what I was doing when I was beating the shit out of that blond pretty boy! Why the Hell would you stop me from fulfilling the mission of Fight Club?"

"The first rule of Project Mayhem is you do not ask questions," Lamb-Chop said smoothly in an attempt to conceal his uncertainty. Truthfully, he couldn't explain why he felt so moved to save Angelface from getting beat up. After all, he could easily heal the young man after the fight, making him as pretty as ever. He wasn't sensitive about letting the man who was like his older brother feel pain; Tyler had always advocated pain as an important part of life, the thing that kept their lives from becoming a blur of mass-produced consumer masturbation, whatever the Hell that was.

Quite honestly, though, he didn't feel very sympathetic to Jack's plight. I mean, come on! Did Jack think his life was one of those silly romantic comedies that were too gay even for Lamb-Chop? Did he really think the first guy he developed a relationship with was "The One?" Sure, the first heartbreak is always the hardest, but this guy really needed to move on! Lamb-Chop knew from the heart-to-hearts that he and Angel had during their three days on the porch that the blond man had been in several relationships before. It wasn't until he was initiated into Project Mayhem that he finally found the man for him: Tyler Durden. Life wasn't one of those silly movies that Tyler's always splicing bits of pornography into: hands touch, eyes meet, sudden silence, sudden heat, and then hearts leaping in a giddy whirl. Even if it was, Jack was most certainly not that girl.

But, Lamb-Chop had learned from his valuable experience of acting as a sassy gay friend and dealing with Jack when he was moody that you couldn't just tell people these things. You had to let them figure this stuff out for themselves. Tyler needs to let Jack figure out the thing between Tyler and Jack himself, not blab it to him.

But trust Tyler Durden to not heed the advice of his sassy gay friend. "You know why," Tyler said, against Lamb-Chop's cry of "Don't even go there, girlfriend!" 

Jack's face twisted in horrified revulsion, but his eyes widened as though he finally figured out something he had been wondering about.

"Say it," Tyler said.

"No," Jack whispered in horror.

"Say it," Tyler repeated.

"They think... I'm you," Jack said slowly.

Lamb-Chop held his breath, an unpleasant feeling of dread in his stomach.

"And why would anyone think that you're me?" Tyler asked quietly.

"Because... because..." Jack said slowly, as if the words were being forced from his mouth. "We're the same person."

You could have heard a pin drop. Fortunately, Lamb-Chop knew how to dispel awkward silences that occurred outside of Fight Club, when the men were forced into conflict resolution that did not involve beating each other up. He pulled a special silver flask out of the pocket of his tight black jeans. "Here's an idea, gents," he said. "Why don't we all have some MiO and agree to talk this over tomorrow when we've all calmed down? Let's all just take a deep breath and FTS."

"FTS?" repeated Jack, puzzled. "What's that?"

"What's FTS?" repeated Lamb-Chop, as if he had never heard of such a ridiculous question. "Only the most amazing thing since smoked sausage! Here I'll show you," he added, pulling three cups out of nowhere. He filled these cups with water that, again, he got from nowhere and demonstrated. "Flip it," he began, flipping the lid off of the silver vial. "Tip it," he continued, tipping the vial over one of the cups and squeezing in some red liquid. "Sip it," he finished, swishing the water and the red juice around and taking a sip.

He added MiO to the other two cups of water and handed a cup to both Jack and Tyler. "Even though you're technically the same person, I realize that you both have radically different personalities. This way each of you can enjoy a delicious water beverage made to your personal tastes."

"That's great!" said Jack sarcastically. "Now we'll never argue about which beverage to order when we go out. This will be so much easier than, for example, each of us ordering completely different drinks or just settling with beer."

"I know, right?" smiled Lamb-Chop, completely oblivious to sarcasm while in Sassy Gay Mode.

"I've had enough of this," said Jack, about to stomp out the door.

"I agree with Ikea-Boy," said Tyler. However, he did not attempt to leave the room. Instead, he swiftly pulled the gun out of his pocket and grabbed Jack by the shoulder. Despite the fact that Tyler Durden was a mere manifestation of Jack's subconscious, the muscular blond man was still the stronger of the two. Before Lamb-Chop could do anything, Tyler had the barrel of his gun pointing down Jack's throat. For a second, Lamb-Chop forgot about the fact that Jack was about to be killed by his imaginary friend and wondered how clean that gun was. It was, after all, very important to take the time to polish the barrel, if you know what he means.

"Any last words?" Tyler asked.

"Tyler, don't do it!" screamed Lamb-Chop, focusing all his power and shoving Tyler. It had no effect. Tyler could always somehow resist Lamb-Chop's mysterious force. Bastard.

"I have to, Lamb-Chop," said Tyler, in a voice that was as close as he ever got to gentleness. "There's no other way. Jack knows about me now; he'll try to get rid of me if I let him live."

Lamb-Chop couldn't exactly argue with that last statement. After all, how many people are willing to share their body with their alternate personality? Still, this was murder for Gucci's sake!

"You could split custody!" Lamb-Chop suggested desperately. "You could control the body on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and you guys could alternate Sundays! It doesn't have to be this way!"

"Yes, it does," Tyler replied, a note of finality in his voice. He was about to pull the trigger when Jack started mumbling against the gun barrel, speaking only in vowels, reminding Lamb-Chop of the way Uncle Vernon would speak when he had a sausage stuffed in his mouth. "I'm sorry?" Tyler said politely, taking the gun out of Jack's mouth only to place it against Jack's temple, thereby preventing the man from making any move to escape.

"I said 'Why am I 'Ikea-Boy' when Lamb-Chop over there is clearly more appearance-obsessed and materialistic than I ever was?'"

"Because of this," Tyler said handing him a perfectly ordinary business card. "It's the business card of the owner of Migliogne's Department Store."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Jack snapped.

"Read it," commanded Tyler.

Jack read the card. His eyes widened. He read it again to make sure it said what he thought it said. It did.

"You bastard!" he burst out. "You used my name. You made me the owner of that shitty department store just so you can go on selling your fat-ass soap at exorbitant prices!"

"I'm not materialistic!" Lamb-Chop protested, seizing upon what he saw as the main issue, even as Jack and Tyler looked ready to kill each other. "With Fight Club, I don't need to be. Something about seeing all these hunky men roll around in the dirt brought the magic back, and now I don't actually have to buy anything to turn ugly things into works of art. Now why'd you have to go insult me for? I was going to help you out and tell you something that might have saved your stupid life."

"Oh, you mean this?" Jack asked. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes in concentration. The gun that had been in Tyler's hand was now in Jack's hand. "If you and I are the same person, and the gun is in your hand, then the gun is in my hand," Jack explained unnecessarily.

"Brilliant, good for you. Doesn't change a thing," said Tyler.

Jack held the gun up to his own neck. "Now why would you want to put a bullet through your own neck?" Tyler asked.

"Not my neck," Jack replied quietly. "Our neck. Tyler, listen to me," Jack continued. "My eyes are open, Tyler."

It was a shame, Lamb-Chop thought, that when Jack finally opened his eyes, it was in such unfashionably decorated surroundings.

Jack pulled the trigger. "Noooo!" Lamb-Chop screamed, trying to pull the gun away from Jack. If Jack died, then Tyler died. But as good a fighter as Lamb-Chop may have been, he was nothing against a good old-fashioned pistol. There was a flash of white light, which Lamb-Chop assumed was from his mysterious power asserting itself. Lamb-Chop began to feel more hopeful. When his strange power manifested itself in desperate situations, things were more likely to go his way. When the glaring light had dimmed to the point where he could actually see around him, he saw Jack lying on the ground, dead. But even as he stared, Jack's corpse was rapidly disappearing. That meant Tyler was...

No, Tyler was standing right behind him. He had a smoking bullet hole through his neck, but he was still alive. Lamb-Chop pulled Tyler over to the bed and had the tall man sit down so that he could examine the injury. Still, no matter how hard Lamb-Chop focused, he could not heal Tyler's gunshot wound the way he could all the other injuries he encountered. The fact that he was working on Tyler wasn't the problem, he was sure of it. He knew from experience that he could heal even Tyler's injuries when the man let his guard down.

"Tyler, relax. Don't fight me," Lamb-Chop begged.

"I'm not!" Tyler insisted. He sounded dazed, as if he had no idea where he was, who he was, or what the Hell was happening. "I'm letting you in. Fix me."

But it was hopeless. As had previously been stated, Lamb-Chop was no match for a good old-fashioned pistol. Worse, they had no method of transportation, and the nearest hospital was miles away. All Lamb-Chop could do was apply pressure and focus harder than he'd ever focused in his life.

Crack! 

Jack's bedroom disappeared. Lamb-Chop found himself in the middle of a dirt road, still holding a hand over Tyler's gunshot wound. He glanced around, now feeling as confused as Tyler. All around him were large stone buildings that seemed to glitter in the twilight. People walked along the lane, dressed in strange fancy outfits that looked almost like dresses. Even the men were wearing these colorful dresses. Many people seemed to be shopping, pulling out shiny gold, silver, and bronze coins in exchange for strange and shiny new items. Others were waving around wooden sticks and creating colorful sparks.

"What's that smell?" Tyler asked in a dazed voice.

Lamb-Chop sniffed the air loudly, as though inhaling the appealing aroma of a delicious meal. "Sparkle-opolis," he replied. "That's the city of Sparkleopolis you are smelling. All the shiny sparkles and shimmers and shininess in the world packed into one fabulous city."

"Oh," said Tyler. "I thought I smelled burnt flesh."

"C'mon you stupid bitch," said Lamb-Chop, wrapping Tangy around Tyler's neck to stem the bleeding and walking Tyler forward as best he could. "Let's get you to a sparkly hospital."


	6. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finally confesses his feelings for Piers' older brother and contemplates his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to add an intermission with our favorite bromantic cousins! Yes, it turned out the Sassy Gay Outtake you just read Act I of was actually Act I of Dudley's movie. Enjoy, and I'll post Act II eventually.

With the lens of a camera down your throat, you speak only in vowels. "Uh-eee, ay i ow," Harry said, against the lens of the video camera Dudley was shoving down his throat.

"What?" asked Dudley, removing the camera from Harry's mouth and wiping off the spittle.

"I said 'Dudley, take it out!'" Harry repeated, catching his breath and wiping the drool off his skin with his ever-present sparkly orange scarf, then getting up off his knees.

"Ten minutes and fifteen seconds. Not bad, Lamb-Chop, not bad at all," Piers' hunky older brother said, consulting a stopwatch. Harry flushed with pleasure and barely managed to repress a giggle.

The cousins were holding a casting party in their cupboard for all of the kids who had taken part in Dudley's latest movie. Dudley was convinced that this was the best film ever made in the history of ever and had the potential to become a cult favorite with many 3 AM showings in college dorm rooms throughout the world. Harry agreed with his cousin's assessment to the point where he had nicknamed the new movie "the sausage of the film business," and had even made plans to institute a new award, known as "The Sausage," for outstanding film-making and acting. One day, the Sausage would be worth a dozen Oscars.

Harry had enjoyed being the star of the show, playing the sassy gay boy who got kicked out of his house, then joined a fight club headed by the world's hottest cult leader, Tyler Durden. Act I had ended on a suspenseful note, with Tyler somehow managing to kill off his pesky alter-ego, Jack, while barely surviving a gaping bullet wound in his neck. Strangely, this bullet wound had occurred when Jack shot at what he had learned was the shared body of himself and Tyler, attempting suicide in an attempt to kill Tyler. For some reason, this had resulted in Jack's death, but not Tyler's. It was as if someone up there decreed that Tyler was too pretty to die. Mysteriously, the main character, Lamb-Chop had managed to transport them both to a magical sparkly kingdom in an attempt to heal Tyler.

The entire cast had worked very hard on the movie, and they were now spending the intermission playing a lively game of Truth or Dare. When Harry's turn had come, he picked "Dare," knowing that if he picked truth, Dudley would pounce on the opportunity to grill him on his completely nonexistent crush on Piers' hunky older brother. So, rather than boring the group by truthfully denying his crush on the admittedly handsome young man, he had nobly decided to provide a modicum of entertainment for the actors and actresses who had gathered in the freakishly large cupboard by allowing Dudley to pick a dare for him.

That was how he had found himself on his knees taking as much of Dudley's video camera in his mouth as he could for as long as he could. Dudley had wanted to perform this activity with a sausage, many platters of which, of course, were scattered around the fancily decorated cupboard. However, Harry refused to ruin the sanctity of the sausages, all of which he had made with his own hands, by using one of them in a petty game of Truth or Dare. So, they wound up using Dudley's camera. When Dudley zoomed in enough, the lens became almost the right shape anyway. This had its good and bad points. On one hand, Dudley ran the risk of having his video camera short-circuited by drool. On the other hand, Harry got to prove his skill while Dudley got a video of the interior of his sassy gay cousin's mouth. It actually looked really cool close up.

Piers' older brother had been drafted into playing Tyler Durden for the film. He had refused at first, but Harry had managed to sweet-talk him into it. As much as a tough guy as Piers' hunky brother pretended to be, Harry could always sweet-talk him into anything. Harry was like the little brother he had never had. Well, actually, he had Piers, but Piers annoyed the Hell out of him, as all little brothers do whenever they are biologically related to you. Harry, despite his feminine ways, was exactly the sort of little brother he wanted (read: one who didn't annoy him). So, the handsome, hunky blond boy whom Harry had nothing but platonic feelings for eventually agreed to play Tyler Durden. The handsome boy, who had recently turned fifteen, was now lounging on Harry's king-sized bed, his best friend from his rugby team curled up beside him.

The best friend, Nick, had played Angelface in the movie. Like the character he portrayed, Harry could tell this boy was gay just by looking at him. There had been no need to touch up his hair or make him wear makeup for the movie, as he already looked the part before filming even started. However, despite the fact that he was a fabulous actor, Nick could not hide his obvious homosexuality to save his life. This wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't so emphatic about being heterosexual that it got to be annoying, not to mention awkward. For instance, right now, he was making the following announcement from his spot next to Piers' older brother on the large, plush bed:

"I've decided to transfer to Smeltings," Nick announced. "I really want to get with some hotties before I have to worry about getting into university."

"Isn't Smeltings an all-boys' school?" Mandy asked from her seat at the foot of the bed. Mandy had dyed her hair back to blond in order to play the role of Petunia Dursley in Dudley's film. She had also showed up again as Delia, the manager of Migliogne's. Piers, who was sitting beside Mandy, had played Uncle Vernon and, later, Jack. Dudley found it both hilarious and squicky that his mother and father were being played by his girlfriend and his second-best friend, respectively. But, those two were clearly the best actors for the roles. It had been one of those hard director decisions.

"Well, yeah," said Nick, blushing. "But some of the teachers are girls, and they're bound to be hot. Teacher-student porn, you know." He grinned at Piers' older brother, who, Harry knew for a fact, had a ton of dirty magazines devoted to that particular topic before he lent them to Piers, who in turn lent them to Dudley, who in turn kept them in Harry's cupboard so that there would be no chance of them ever being found by his mother, who in turn remained as convinced as ever that her widdle Duddykins was a perfect baby angel. In his turn, Harry hid them under a loose floorboard under his bed and tried not to think about their existence. The things one does for a bromance...

"My dad says that when he went there, the teachers dressed like faded old librarians and looked like they never got any sunlight," Dudley contributed.

"All right, vampire teachers!" said Nick, rallying magnificently. He bumped fists with Piers' older brother.

Harry rolled his eyes, then turned cheerful again as he caught sight of his large, ornate grandfather clock. "Five minutes 'til intermission's over people," he said, clapping his hands enthusiastically. "Does anyone need to use the bathroom before Act II starts?"

"I do," Piers' older brother and Nick said at the same time.

"There's one upstairs and to the left," said Mandy, who had been to the Dursleys' house often enough to know her way around. "Amy and Victoria are in Harry's bathroom fixing their makeup," she gestured towards a closed door at the opposite end of the humongous cupboard. "They'll probably end up taking forever and a day."

Nick and Piers' elder sibling exited the cupboard and made their way upstairs as quietly as they could. While the Dursley parents never seemed to hear what went on in the cupboard, Harry and Dudley had learned the hard way that their hearing could pick up loud noises that were made anywhere outside the cupboard. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were both asleep, and nobody wanted to be responsible for waking them and ruining the secret party.

Five minutes passed with the inhabitants of Harry's cupboard chattering about inconsequential things or splashing around in the indoor pool. The screen showing declaring the intermission gradually began to fade to the beginning of Act II, but there was no sign of Piers' older brother and his best friend.

And so, Dudley was forced to pause the movie, while Harry slipped out of the cupboard to announce that Act II was starting now. If it had been any other movie, rushing guests out of the bathroom might be considered rude, but this movie was awesome on so many levels that there was no way they could afford to waste even a second of movie-viewing time.

So, Harry made his way up the staircase and towards the upstairs bathroom. Harry immediately noticed that the door was open, even though the light was on, indicating that the bathroom was in use. "Guys, the movies starting again," Harry planned to whisper.

However, what came out was a high-pitched, girlish scream. The reason for the scream was the sight of two shirtless teenaged rugby players, one of them belonging to Piers' hunky older brother, the other one belonging to the friendly neighborhood closet case Nick, making out in the Dursleys' pristine bathroom.

Upon hearing the loud, feminine scream, Uncle Vernon woke up and bellowed, "Dudley! Be quiet and go to sleep!"

"Sorry, dad," Harry grunted in an attempt to imitate his cousin's voice.

It must have worked, because there was no further noise from the bedroom of the elder Dursleys other than Vernon's snoring starting up again.

The couple immediately broke apart when they heard the ten year-old's loud, traumatized scream. Harry wasn't traumatized over the fact that there were two dudes kissing in the bathroom. On the contrary, such an occurrence would normally have pleased the developing young man. However, one of the guys happened to be Piers' hunky older brother. And Piers' hunky older brother belonged to Harry, even if he didn't know it yet.

"What are you doing? What, what, what are you doing?" he whispered. Even in his distress, he was careful not to wake his guardians.

Nick looked like he would die of embarrassment. Face red as a tomato, he pushed past Harry, then ran down the stairs and out of the Dursley's house. Harry shook his head. C'mon, everybody knew Nick was gay! Who did that boy think he was kidding?

This left Harry alone in the bathroom with his secret long-time crush. Piers' older brother was normally cocky and self-assured, but now he looked completely lost. He stared after his boyfriend, as if he didn't have a clue what to do.

"You know, everybody already knows Nick is gay," Harry pointed out. "It won't be a big surprise to anyone that he likes guys. Once he realizes that nobody cares, he'll feel better," Harry said in an attempt to comfort his crush. In reality, Harry felt that anyone who made out with Piers' sexy sibling and did not shout it proudly from the rooftops and perform a musical number proclaiming their love for the handsome rugby player/actor was too dumb to find true love. However, he had seen enough sitcoms to know that attempting to split up two lovers only made them love each other all the more and grow more determined to be together. So he let this issue be. Besides, he wasn't going to out anyone. He needed to let Nick work some things out for himself.

Still, how could that stupid angel-faced blond still be worried about how everyone else would react to his (obvious) gayness when he had the honor of being the boyfriend of Piers' brother, the young Tyler Durden look-alike? Honestly, some people needed to look at their lives, look at their choices, and sort out their priorities. In the meantime, Harry was here to be the sassy gay comforter and to help the relationship-challenged through their seemingly insurmountable problems by thinking up a clever metaphor that could be applied to MiO whilst enjoying a bottle of that delicious beverage.

"What do you mean everyone knows Nick is gay?" Piers' brother asked, now panicking slightly. "Who else saw us kissing?"

"Just me, but still. The guy's been your best friend for years. Hasn't he always seemed a little... flamboyant to you?"

"No, not really," Piers' brother responded cluelessly.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes to the ceiling. MiO save him. How can someone so adorable be so dense?

"He spent weeks designing more stylish uniforms for the rugby team," Harry pointed out.

"Those uniforms made it easier to run and provided more protection," Piers' brother pointed out. "I think the stylishness was just a lucky coincidence."

"Sure, that's why he spent three hours talking about how the gold trim flattered his figure," Harry said sarcastically.

"He was talking to a bunch of cheerleaders, though," Piers' brother pointed out. "Don't girls like that kind of thing? They all seemed interested. He even went out to the mall with them to discuss fashion more over lunch and a shopping spree."

"The unbreakable bond between a gay man and his hag aside, what about the fact that he knows all the lyrics to every song in every Broadway and off-Broadway show ever written?"

"So he's theatrical, big deal! A lot of straight guys like to sing, and the dancing helps with agility necessary to perform manly operations."

If it had been Dudley who uttered the phrase "manly operations," Harry would have laughed his head off. However, he wanted to show Piers' older brother how mature he was, so he refrained. "I'm not saying that straight men can't have those interests, or enough hairspray to immobilize a buffalo, an adorable lisp, or propeller wrists. But the fact that Nick has all these traits and more should clue most people in. There's no need for a big, gay, angsty coming-out story with him. The guy was born without a closet!" Harry sighed deeply. "You realize Nick's gay, right?" he asked, just to make sure. After all, a good sassy gay friend should never overestimate a person's ability to grasp the obvious. Never had this fact been more apparent than in the determinedly obtuse elder Polkiss boy.

"Of course I do!" he replied. "But that's because Nick's been making out with me ever since we started appearing in Dudley's film together. Nick has never made out with any other guys, and you're the only one who saw us kissing. So, really, it's only us three who know that Nick's gay. Everybody else will be as surprised as I was when I first found out!"

"You were actually surprised?" Harry asked, shocked. Piers' brother had bypassed clueless ages ago and was now heading into the murky fields of stupid.

"Well, yeah," said Piers' brother. "He was always the guy I got advice about girls from. Then, one day after we finished shooting the PG-rated sex scene between Tyler and Angelface, Nick suddenly kissed me for real. At first, I was like, 'Dude, we finished shooting. The camera's off, and Dudley's not even in the room anymore.' And Nick was all, 'I know. I just wanna keep doing this.' So, we kept doing it 'cause it felt so good."

"Oh." Nick, Nick, it had to be Nick. That moron who couldn't find his way out of the closet if he had a flashlight and a map.

Honestly, if Piers' brother wanted to experiment, why couldn't he just turned to his sassy, gay next-door neighbor. Harry was willing, available, and more than ready. He had read enough Cosmo to know how to navigate through a relationship with an older man.

Then he remembered it had been Nick who had kissed Piers' brother, not the other way around. Of course! It was so obvious. All that pining and MiO drinking and poring over fashion magazines wasn't going to make a difference! Hunks like that wanted action!

And so, without further ado, Harry hopped on top of the bathroom counter. He gently pulled Piers' brother forward by his shirt, and, when there faces were inches apart, leaned forward and kissed him square on the lips.

His first kiss with a guy. Harry felt like doing a happy dance and singing showtunes, except that would require tearing his lips away from the lips of the amazing hunk he was currently kissing. Yes, you read that correctly. Harry was currently locking lips with the wonderful, gorgeous, hunky... whatever-his-name-was.

The sudden realization that Harry did not actually know the name of his long-time crush did not stop him from leaning further into the kiss. Who cared about such silly things as names? He was in love!

What did stop him from kissing the hunky boy next door was the fact that said boy suddenly pulled away and pushed Harry's head back, where it collided painfully with the mirror. Harry scowled and put his hand to the back of his head where it had crashed into the glass.

"What the Hell was that?" both Piers' brother and Harry asked one another at the exact same time. There was a slight pause.

"That? What the Hell was that?" they both replied to each others' questions, also at the exact same time. Harry found himself getting over his disappointment and pain as he noticed how he and Piers' brother were obviously on the same wavelength. Putting aside the whole rejection-of-the-first-kiss thing, they were totally meant for each other.

Judging by his expression of mingled shock and anger, Piers' brother did not seem to share this sentiment.

"Harry, what the Hell?" he asked, shocked. "I'm, like, way older than you, plus I have a boyfriend!"

Yeah, a boyfriend who won't even admit that he's gay for you! Harry thought. It was in that moment that he decided: screw trying not to split up the lovers. If Harry's confession, years in the making, only threw Piers' brother deeper into the limp-wristed (but still muscular) arms of his "best friend" Nick, so be it. Harry had to say what was on his mind, consequences be damned!

"I love you," Harry blurted out. "I don't think Nick's anywhere near good enough for you. You deserve a guy who's proud to be with you."

"Nick is proud to be with me. He just isn't ready to come out yet," Piers' brother insisted. "We can't all be flaming balls of fashion. Some gays are a little more… reserved."

"Yes, and Nick's not one of them. There's no way anyone could possibly mistake him for straight. If he ever got the guts to come out of the closet, he would get a bunch of 'I already knew'-s, and everyone would move on with their lives."

"How would anyone know?" Piers' brother asked, confused. "I told you, I'm the only guy Piers has ever made out with, and you're the only one who's ever caught us. You're not going to tell anyone- are you?"

"Of course not," said Harry. Nick may be competing for the affections of Harry's true love, his soul-mate, but there were some lows that even a boy crossed in love should never stoop to. One of these lows was outing a guy who wanted to stay in the closet. Even if said closet had a clear glass door and invisible walls.

"But," he continued, still not about to give up on romancing the man he was meant to be with (even if he was determined to be a gentleman about it) "your love life would really benefit from you being with someone more open. Think of it: no secrets, no shame, no having to hide. I know you, Polkiss. You don't want to live a lie. You want to be able to kiss the person you love in public without worrying about what other people will think. You need a guy who's out and proud in order to complement your rebellious and outgoing personality."

"Huh?" was Piers' brother's reply. He stood there in silent confusion for nearly a minute before he added, "Complement? You make two people in love sound like… like one of your outfits. Who cares if we don't match? That just seems like another way of saying 'the parts don't fit together right?'"

"You're being ridiculous," said Harry, beginning to get annoyed. "Clearly I think the parts fit together. I'm talking about souls!"

"Our souls? Really, Harry? You're the last person I would expect that crap from!"

"Not the religious kind of souls! Just get buried at sea, and it won't matter if your soggy soul is surrounded by the fires of Hell… but that's sassy gay advice for another day. No, I was talking about something much more important. I was talking about your soul-mate, about finding the guy you'll love no matter what, even if you don't realize it yet. You just need to give him a chance!"

"I already have my soul-mate," Piers' brother insisted stubbornly. "Nick is the man I love."

"He is not your soul-mate, and he doesn't deserve your love!" Harry protested. "You deserve someone much better! You're meant to be with someone who will love you as much as you love him, if not more!" Harry took a deep breath and finally decided to let the cat out of the bag. "You're meant to be with me. We're meant to be together. I love you Whatever-Your-First-Name-Is Polkiss!"

"You what?" Piers' brother asked, completely floored, not having noticed what Harry considered his "fabulous yet subtle flirtations" and what the rest of the world considered "painfully obvious attempts to throw himself at the boy next door" throughout the many years that they had known each other. The guy really was clueless!

"I love you," Harry repeated. "I have always loved you and will continue loving you until the MiO factory finally runs dry."

"Whoa, wait, stop," said Piers' still-unnamed elder sibling, backing away slowly. "Let's both just calm down and take this one step at a time." He took a deep, steadying breath. "My first name is 'Puck.' Yes, that's my name, Puck Polkiss. I try not to tell other people my name if I can possibly avoid it. And if I can't, I pretend that my parents named me after the piece of hockey equipment rather than the character in Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.'"

"I've always just thought of you as 'Piers' hunky older brother,'" Harry admitted.

"Trust me, kid, you'll get over me, quick," the boy who most certainly didn't look like anyone named Puck said. "When I was your age, I had the biggest crush on a guy named Vampire. I was constantly doing weird shit to get him to notice me, but he would never see me as anything more than a 'prep,' whatever the Hell that is. It still didn't keep me from trying. I dyed my hair black, I dyed my clothes black, I started wearing black eyeliner, and for some reason, I painted my nails black. I spent hours in front of the mirror practicing speaking like a Goth, which at the time I thought were people from Gotham City. I figured the Gotham City residents all had a distinct accent that they edited out of the Batman movies and comics because it was too hard for the mainstream people to understand. This, I felt, went a long way towards explaining Vampire's hatred of anything normal, mainstream, or preppy. I figured he thought that non-Goths were all a bunch of racists. I was determined to prove him wrong.

"Of course, it didn't end well. Vampire eventually wound up dating some girl named Brittany, who he used to always say was a 'stupid prep.' I don't know if that was a case of obsessing over your enemy to the point where you develop strong feelings for them, and the two of you eventually fall in love, or if 'stupid prep' was a compliment all along. Either way, you move on, with the help of a sweet crimson beverage, of course."

"What, blood?" Harry asked, revolted. He had a feeling he had heard a story with vaguely similar plot elements before, and it had not ended well.

Puck Polkiss gave Harry an odd look. "No, of course not," he said slowly. "I was talking about MiO." He pulled a small bottle of it out of his pocket and filled two cups with water from the bathroom sink. "Fruit punch, my favorite flavor," he said, handing one of the cups to Harry.

Harry would have squealed with joy if he were not worried about waking his aunt and uncle. "You carry your own MiO now! That's fabulous!"

"I learned it all from you, little bro," Puck said affectionately. "I never even heard of MiO before you came along."

The two of them stood in companionable silence, sipping their delicious MiO. It struck Harry that this was the first time he could be in the presence of the eldest Polkiss without worrying about what his hair looked like or impressing his future husband. They could simply be together as friends.

Then, another thought struck Harry. "Hold on, you said that you had a crush on a guy when you were ten. Have you been gay all this time?"

Puck shrugged. "Who the Hell knows? I've known some sexy dudes, I've known some sexy broads. Heck, I've even given the old once-over to a couple of inanimate objects, if you know what I mean… but you really didn't need to know that," he added, seeing Harry's face.

"It's okay!" said Harry, shrugging it off. "The important thing is that MiO once again solved all of our problems!"

"Well, not really," said Puck. "I still have to go after my boyfriend and convince him that he doesn't have some sort of disease because he likes guys. Not even MiO can solve everything."

"I'll help," Harry offered.

"Thanks, but if someone else is around when we're talking about our relationship, he'll probably run off again. It has to be between the two of us. See ya, Lamb Chop. Maybe we could come back some other day and see how Act II turned out."

"Bye," said Harry, suddenly feeling very alone. Maybe Puck was right. MiO really couldn't solve everything. It was just a beverage, after all. A delicious beverage with 24 servings of flavor packed into one stylish silver container, enabling the drinker to create a delicious water beverage made to their exact taste… but a beverage, nonetheless.

For instance, MiO could not take away Harry's feeling of dread as fear of an uncertain future hit him. He and his cousin had graduated from primary school three days ago and would be going off to secondary school in August. Dudley would be going to Smeltings, an exclusive private school that Uncle Vernon had attended. It was for boys only, which generated a fair amount of giggling from Harry. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had planned to enroll him in Stonewall High, the local public school.

Harry didn't have anything against a public school education, but Dudley was going to a boarding school while Harry would be coming home to Privet Drive every evening. Piers Polkiss would be going to Smeltings as well, while Mandy and her girlfriends would be going off to Madam Zellwinger's Academy for Young Ladies. Harry would be the only one of his friends not going off to boarding school. As outgoing as he was, he hated the thought of starting a new school without his BFF's. Even more detestable was the idea of coming back home to Privet Drive without having Dudley, Piers, or his girlfriends to play with.

This, along with the fact that the arts budget was always being cut in public schools, led Harry to apply for the Delta Nu Academy of Visual, Fashion, and Performing Arts, a boarding school located in London. He knew that the Dursleys would not spend a cent on his tuition, particularly for a school that "Emphasized self-expression through the arts." However, he had been saving for years, waiting for the chance to leave Privet Drive for the big city. If the combined funds from any scholarships he could win and his life's savings were insufficient, well, that's what loans were for. He might have to steal Lamb-Chop's trick of getting a fake ID and cooking up some convincing-looking medical documents stating that he was an 18 year-old midget in order to take out said loan, but it was doable.

Still, he hadn't heard from the Delta Nu people yet, and he was beginning to fear that he had been rejected. He sighed, allowing himself a rare moment of self-pity. It seemed his dream school had rejected him, the boy he had given his first kiss to (even though he was totally over him, now) had rejected him, and, come August, all his friends would be leaving him at Privet Drive.

"Harry?" Dudley had appeared in the hallway outside the bathroom. Somehow, with all the romance, the gay drama and the moping about the future, Harry had forgotten that he was standing in the bathroom. "Um, where are Nick and Polkiss?"

"Puck and Nick are having relationship drama," Harry explained, not mentioning that he had indirectly caused the relationship drama by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One more thing to angst about.

"Who's Puck?" Dudley asked, confused.

"That's the first name of Piers' older brother." Harry made a sound somewhere between a bitter laugh and a sigh. "Turns out his parents did not name him 'Hunk' when he was born."

"'Puck?'" Dudley asked confused. "What, his parents named him after that thing in hockey that looks like a cookie?"

"Yeah," Harry lied, remembering Puck's conspiracy to conceal the fact that he had been named after a Shakespeare character.

"So Puck and Nick…" Dudley trailed off.

"Yeah, but I'm over him now," said Harry.

"You'll find someone better," Dudley said. "Puck's an idiot if he's not head over heels for you."

"Yeah," said Harry distantly.

"You know," Dudley said, "I bought a container of peach tea MiO today. It tastes okay. Still, it seems like it's missing something. Want to see how it tastes with the fruit punch MiO?"

"Sure," said Harry grinning. Harry filled up a cup of water, and together he and Dudley FTS'd their respective MiO flavors into the water and swirled the mixture around. They each took a sip.

Harry gasped. "That is the most heavenly concoction I have ever tasted. My taste buds are performing their own Big Gay Musical to be performed at the oral version of the Gay Pride Parade!"

The cousins enjoyed the best cup of MiO they had ever had before Dudley remembered the reason he had come up here. "Oh, Harry, we're about to start watching Act II. You wanna start it now or wait until Puck and Nick come back."

"Naw," said Harry, who was now in a better mood from the delicious MiO and the presence of his best friend. He winked at Dudley. "They'll probably be gone all night."

He grinned and went down the stairs arm-in-arm with his cousin. He knew that he would soon have to face going months without seeing Dudley, but that was in the Fall. Right now, Summer stretched before them, those precious twelve weeks of sunshine and freedom seeming to have no end, even as the long days of silly antics, crushes, and theatrical endeavors passed by quickly. Those carefree moments were slipping through their fingers all the time. It was important to capture them, roll around in the dirt with them, give them a makeover, and convince them to perform in a movie during which there would be at least one musical number. Otherwise, those moments would pass through life unnoticed and unappreciated.

For now, he would enjoy a loud, chaotic summer night with all the neighborhood kids in his palatial cupboard. There was no way to worry about the future now. He was, after all, about to spend the night in a spacious, fabulously decorated room watching quality cinema- the future winner of the Harry James Potter Sausage Award. Best of all, he would be surrounded by stupid bitches. And he wouldn't have it any other way.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your sassy gay friend says "It Gets Better," and we learn the origins of Tangy the sparkly orange scarf.

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley out to London to purchase his new uniform for Smeltings School for Boys. Normally, Harry would have been left with Mrs. Figg during this important mother-son bonding moment, but Petunia had received a telephone call from Mrs. Figg's nurse (who, for some reason, was calling from a payphone and who sounded like a prepubescent boy using a deliberately high-pitched voice rather than a grown woman) saying that Mrs. Figg was recovering from a broken leg and should avoid all non-feline contact.

Petunia had moaned in despair as she felt her entire universe spinning out of control, as she always felt when having to deal with anything to do with that unnatural boy. She begged and pleaded with the nurse, offering to dress her nephew up as a cat so that she could still send him off to Mrs. Figg's and be allowed a moment to spend with her darling son. But the healthcare provider would have none of that. Damn her patient advocacy and her knowledge of human versus cat DNA!

If it were not for the zoo incident and the fact that she wanted time to spend with her darling Dudley before he went off to boarding school, she would have simply taken the Potter boy with her, not trusting him to not blow up the house. As it was, she did the next best thing and locked him in his cupboard before hurrying off to beat the lunchtime rush.

For his part, Harry had been hoping to get some time alone in the house for quite a while now. He had a project planned, and, while he knew that Dudley would support him in it, he felt the topic was too emotional to have someone else around while he was working on it. And now, Uncle Vernon was at work, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley were out shopping. He might never get another chance.

And so, without further ado, he slipped out of his cupboard (locks having never presented much of a challenge for him, which was useful, considering his relatives' penchant for locking him in his secretly awesome cupboard) and hurried up to Dudley's messy bedroom to borrow his cousin's camcorder.

He spent quite some time thinking over the location of the video. His cupboard was undoubtedly the most stylish room in the house, but perhaps an outdoor scene would be more peaceful. After hemming and hawing for a few minutes, Harry slapped his forehead in realization, exclaiming "I'm a stupid bitch!" as inspiration hit. Because, of course, the cupboard under the stairs had two huge windows, even though they could not be seen from the outside of the house. These windows didn't just show what was going on outside. Harry had found that he can change the scenery that the large picture windows presented, even if he could not change the actual outside world. He could at least have something pretty to look at from his cupboard.

With that decided, Harry quickly opened the navy blue curtains, and, after a moment of thought, decided on a beach scene. Then, he pulled his squashy bean-bag chair in front of the windows, and set up the camera. He sat down cross-legged on the bean-bag chair with a lovely view of the seaside behind him and the camcorder in front of him.

He adjusted Tangy around his neck (much like Uncle Vernon would straighten his tie before he said something particularly pompous), flashed the camera a dazzling smile, and began to speak. "Hey, you stupid bitches!" Harry said, his welcoming tone negating any insult that a listener may have found in the unusual greeting. "I've got something very important to tell you, so listen carefully." He paused a second for dramatic effect, then continued.

"You are special. You are unique. You are beautiful. Even though I can't see you and probably don't know you, I know these three things are true about you, because, God or no God, no life is a mistake. Everybody on this Earth has something positive to contribute; something that sets them apart from everybody else. Don't ever let anyone talk you out of selling yourself short or keep you from sharing these gifts with the world.

"I know that's easier said than done. I remember when I was little, about four or five, that I noticed that I was different from all the other boys. I wasn't into sports and I liked to play 'girl' games like house and dolls. I was just a little kid, so I didn't think much of it. The fact that I was different didn't really hit home until I was in primary school. I was on the playground, playing Barbies with a group of girls from my class. We were all having a good time when a group of boys came up to me and yanked the doll out of my hand, telling me I should be playing 'boy' games. Of course, I yanked that Barbie right back and told them there was no way I'm gonna stop playing with my bestest girlfriends just because they tell me to. Somehow this simple statement led to a fight…on one side, there was me and a bunch of girls, and on the other side, there was a group of five huge boys. Somehow, me and the girls came out on top, and we sent the boys off crying with black eyes, bloody noses, and pain in a very sensitive region." Harry allowed himself a small smile at the bittersweet memory. He was happy because he and the girls were victorious, but the same time sad, because it happened before he and Dudley were friends, so Dudley had been part of that group of bullies.

"It didn't end there. They told on us, of course, and parents were called. My aunt and uncle were furious at me for fighting at school. When I explained what happened, they just got angrier. I'll never forget my uncle's reaction. I think this was the first- and only- time in my life that he spoke directly to me. When I told them about how I was trying to get those boys to leave me alone so that I could go back to playing dolls with my girlfriends, there was dead silence. Then, my uncle crouched down to my level, looked me right in the eye, and said 'You'll never be normal.' The whole time he's glaring at me like I was a slug or something. Then, he shoved me into my cu- my room and slammed the door. I was grounded for a week." Tears began to prickle at the corners of Harry's eyes as he remembered his family's reaction.

"They- my aunt and uncle- told me I was to use that week to think about what I did wrong. Instead, I spent that week wondering what was wrong with me. Why couldn't I be like other boys? Why couldn't I make my family proud of me, like they were proud of my cousin?"

"I spent that whole week hating everything about myself, wishing I could change. Sometimes, I prayed to a God I wasn't sure existed, prayed to Him to make me normal. Sometimes, I sat there thinking of ways to make myself normal, practicing acting like other boys. And sometimes, I just sat there with my head in my hands and cried.

"On my fourth day of punishment, I saw some old boxes in my room that I never noticed before. So, I opened up a few and dug through. Inside were the most beautiful decorations, old outfits, and accessories, along with scraps of discarded fabrics. One of these scraps was long, skinny, and sparkly and had a beautiful orange color. Instantly, I wrapped that gorgeous thing around my neck, and it's been my scarf, my Tangy, ever since." Harry lovingly fingered his ever-present sparkly orange scarf.

"That's when I had my epiphany. All of these beautiful things were discarded, rejected at some point in their existence. Otherwise, they wouldn't have wound up being stored in my cupb- my room. And yet, all of these things are beautiful in their own way. I used every single thing I found in one of those boxes to beautify the world around me, whether I used it to decorate, to accessorize, or to make gifties for my girlfriends. Sometimes, the most beautiful things are unappreciated, discarded by others.

"You are beautiful. Do not let the fact that you're shoved in a box and sent out of sight for a while convince you that you aren't worth paying attention to. Because you are worth it. When my punishment was up, I stepped out a changed boy: stylish, confident, and most decidedly not normal. But I knew at that point that I was beautiful, unique, and special. And there was nothing anybody could do or say that could ever change that.

"When times get tough, just remember that those things that cause people to push you away or view you with contempt will one day be the very things that the world treasures you for. It happened to those gorgeous old knick-knacks, it happened to me, and it will happen to you if you stick to your guns and let it. Don't ever forget that it gets better."

Harry got up and shut off the video camera. He would edit the footage for visual and audio quality later on. But, for now, he flopped back down on his bean-bag chair and ran his fingers through Tangy's sparkly orange silk. A small smile lit his face as he blinked back tears, revisiting old, bittersweet memories and remembering with pride how far both he and Tangy had come. "Couldn't have done it without you, buddy," Harry murmured to his favorite accessory. He wiped his tears away with his sparkly orange scarf, as he had done so many times in the past, back when things were bad. Then, he leaned back in the bean-bag chair, listening to the waves crashing against the coast outside his pretend windows and cuddling Tangy, his very first friend.


End file.
